et ee ee : 

ROITION DE LUXE 
Ant od EBACE a wad ae) i 
CO Oa URE Bras OUR ANUS ae a hianinteiinie tina einnbbet sede) 


Mr E.F Minuken’s 


COLLECTION OF 


VALUABLE PalntINGs 


ACC. 


f 


" 


a a 


ee | 


THE | MILLIKEN COLLECTION. q 


| Ftne Pictures by American and French 
Colorists to be Sold Friday. | 
| That Mr, B..Re Milliken is a very dis- 
| eriminating pérsor in his choice of pictures 
| one can sée at a glance on éntéring the. 
_ upper gallery of the American Art Asso- | 
\ elation.”, From nearly every frame among | 
|the twenty-six comes a flash of interest, 
|apd from some the Clear signs of genius. 
| beckon. Heélécti¢ inswio narrow sense, Mr. 
| Milliken has, however, no examples of the 
| aneedote picture, .nor any of the religious, 
| but he likes ol@ masters and yet enjoys 
+ the extréemé) painters of the pléinair move- 
}ment; he. aflmires the romantic landscap- 
er in France, (1830-75,) and buys pietures 
of ballet dancers by Degas, in which such 
' pitiful little suggestions of beauty in, form 
| and movement as exist among those sur- | 
| ¥ivals of bad taste in the opera are ruth- 
Tessly put to flight.. He can pass from the 
@rubby realism of Degas to the calm sym- 
holism of Puvis de Chavannes and appre- 
‘elate the exquisite art of Albert Ryder and | 
r er Martin in marine and landscape, 
| without being rebuffed by the bold if some- 
| what erudé realism of Edouard Manet. 
Small, choice collections like this are use- 
| ful to educate the public to the fact that 
| Atherica producés work which not merely | 
| @€Guals but surpasses that of modern Eu- 
ropeans who are rightly placed, among the 
| great. On one wall hangs a very beautiful | 
| study of sky and clouds and low hill-top 
| horizon by J. F. Millet; luminous and lim-| 
pid, it is the true descendant of the land- 
| scapes of old Dutchmen who gave their 
| life to painting nature. And on the opposite 
wall hangs a moonlight marine by Albert) 
| Ryder which soars high above the beautiful | 
-Millet. Such a delightful mystery as we | 
| fina in the boat with tattered sail wallow- 
ke Ling in the trough of the sea, suggesting a 
Mote survivor of a shipwreck, or a man 
| marooned by his heartless comrades, or 
| some ene of the old legends of heroes or) 


“heroines 6f romance sent adrift for the) 
"gods to pity and succor! And the strange 
‘boat and its occupant are bathed in a moon- 
light which is splendid and yet consoling, | 
' the rays vibrating through the heavens and | 
|on the surface of the sea with a radiance 
‘that seers the, summing up of a hundred | 
moonlights, ratHer than the record of some’ 
oné hight in midocéan over which memory 
likes to linger. This is Ryder’s great feat, | 
‘that his pictures so oftén concentrate many | 
| Studies of nature in one and fuse many / 
actualities into one hymn, one dramatic! 
poem, one delightful piece of music. This| 
Picture, from the W. T. Evans collection, | 
[Was painted on thé other side of the panel, 
“Containing his ‘‘ Temple of the Mind,” and/| 
by a skillful section of the panel the for-| 
(mer Owner of the “‘ Temple” obtained two | 
pictures Instead of one. } 
The ‘ Westchester Hills,” by Homer D.)| 
Martin, one of the finest in the Evahs sale, 
|; has. been to Paris since it came into Mr. 
| Milliken’s possession, where it found rev- | 
vérent admirers at the Exposition of 1900, 
and where efforts were made to secure it 
for the collections of the French Govern- 
ment. 
With that of Daubigny'’s *‘ Cliff of Viller- | 
ville’’ to see the superiority of the Ameri- 
€an master; and if this painting by Dau- 
“bigny, good as it is, may be thought an un- 
fair example to use for comparison, then | 
one has merely to compare it with more | 
important Daubignys. The simple grandeur 

| of “‘ Westchester Hills’’ goes hand in hand 
with a loveliness in the coloring that be-| 
+ eame Martin's secret as soon as he reached | 
the point of making of his landscapes | 
Something more than a bare transcript of | 
hature, Certainly it is a wonderful picture| 
even for Martin, wonderful forthe impres- 
sive effects he obtained by the simplest 
means. One thinks of Constable, but it is) 
‘not Constable: one thinks of Rousseau, but) 


One has only to compate its sky | 


‘are sometimes right, 


_table-shaped rocks and a tender, 


q is” “HOt Rousséiu; something far more 
ar, pensive, sah ia Wbcatee aes ithe, bare 


“hill and weéed-grown pastures, smiles from 
“the exquisite sky. 
“of William Gedney Bunce discredit the con-| 
/noisseurship of this collector. 


Nor does the specimen 


It is a Ven-) 
ice lagoon which renders mést impressively 
the effect of the vast concave of sky as it) 
appears from the gondola when the marvel-_ 


\jous city of the Adriatic is low down on) 


the horizon and the héavens are decorated 
with fleecy clouds, while the sun ainien| 


. strange patterns with rays and cloud shad- 


ows all about the vault. This, picture also. 
went to the Paris Exposition in 1900 and | 


| Was deéreed a medal. 


The Titian is supposed to be a porttalt 
of Giorgio Cornaro, brother of Caterina | 
Cornaro, one time Queen of Cyprus. He 
is a powerful man, With hunting dog by 
his side, who is inspecting with the ¢ritical 
eye of a fowler the trained hawk that sits 
on his gloved left hand. The hood which. 
hunting hawks wore to keep them quiet, 
has been removed and the gentleman seems | 
to be considering the condition of his pet. 
bird. The name Titianus, painted on the 


grayish background, is no guarantee of the | 


genuineness of the attribution; ‘nor does. 
the fact that it bélonged to the collection 
of the Warls of Howard at Castle Howard 
weigh much in that consideration. The. 
name may have been placed there centur-_ 
ies ago, and not by Titian, The attribu- 
tion may or may not have been right, as. 
attributions in the most famous collections | 
sometimes ‘wrong. | 
The fact that it is a splendid portrait in 
JVitian’s manner is the only sure guide. 

“ Hope,” by Puvis de Chavannes has a! 
great portion of that decorative largenéss 
in composition which placed him at the 
head of modérn mural painters, The ar- 
tist’s mind was on the composition rather | 
than the humanly central point, namely, | 
the face of the symbolical maiden. She ts 
a gracious figure seated on a shattered 
wall near, and on Which various Wild flow+ 
ers grow, and in the distance one séeg 
Sweet | 
Instead of a flower she holds | 


evening sky. 


‘at arm’s length a twig of green oak leaves, | 


typifying strength and hope; for the daté 
is 1872, and France was still deep in des: | 
pair over the wreck made by ambitious | 
rulers on both sides of the Rhine. The 
face alone fails to reach the proper level; 
it is insignificant. Doubtless the pictura 
was part of some larger schenie for wall | 
decoration which Puvis had in mind, repre- | 
senting the dangers and vicissitudes of 
France; but it is carried out with all the! 
eare of a finished e€asel picture. . 


The Corot is a fine landscape with beech | 
trees, and on the horizon a group of horse- | 
men just about toe disappear, While the) 
foreground is occupied by a trio of two. 
women and a man, the latter wounded put | 
sti]l alive. Overhead against the foliage of 
the tall trees are boyangels carrying crown | 
and palm branch, descending to greet the | 
sufferer as a saint. It is a variant on 
Corot’s picture of Saint Sebastian. The 
Delacroix is a somewhat confused compo. | 
sition in a brilliant state as to preserva. | 
tion, with several very charming and sey. | 
eral very indifferent figures—a study by | 
Delacroix of a cartoon by Rubens, The | 
identity of the different gods tn this sym. 
bolical design is not always cleat. We can 
tell Venus by her ample undraped charms, 
Apollo by his bow, Mars by his helmet 
and the place he occupies by Venus. What 
is meant by the man and woman pursued | 
and wounded by the gods is not Very evi- | 
dent. The two examples of Mantt, a view | 
of the British Channel, 
and black-sailed fishing boats, when the 
ocean looks, as hard as a turquois floor, 
and a broadly brushed half-length of a 
man smoking a clay pipe, his thick beard 
streaked with gray, are good examples of 
mi ats 


Girl in Green,” made a hit nes ap- 
peared ih the show of — 


-Durand-Rue} galleries, It is. a half-length 


fand boa, green gown 


her face is reflected full. It is a powerful 
}and very satisfactory picce of work. - ‘The 


}in white gown and pale yellow. silk. shave 
| portrait of a boy by the late via 


/ and a decorative féte Gtr 4 
| celli, a winterscape by Sisley, ‘ond. shores 
| Scape by Renoir are, further pi 
|The sale takes place: on Friday 

| Mendelssohn Hall on. ash Ae Street. 


with steamship | ‘Prices, 


stance. In the a es 
Belle Isle,” the smooth water, with 
tions of the cliffy is beautiful, but bigs 
themselves less attractive, 


powerfully ee in which the 

are solid and the breakers rolling in tow: 
the curving beach to thé left are perh 
too firm. The stinlight on the rocks 
strong and true. ‘‘ Reflections,” by Julian 
‘Alden Weir, otherwise known as “The 


Ten at the 


of a comely young woman in black hat 


who stands in profile by a mirror so that. 


‘portrait of his wife, by William M) 


is excellent. Rather di 


Morris Hunt; more int 
of a head in the manner ‘of tear Sx 


.C. D, Currier, an American, ay sb 


in Munich. A little Michel, asi 


aight at 


Sa ale 


PAINTINGS ve AUCTION 


The Miliken estientidi Disposed Of 
for aie 


$42,000 Paid for a Titian ad’ $20,000 
for a Corot, After Very Spirited — = 
Bidding. | 
| P. + 5 ° : . ‘ . 
Mr. E. ¥. Milliken's collection of twenty- 
six paintings were sold at public auction | 
last night at Mendelssohn Hall. The By 


Seats Seas 


| 


‘receipts from the sale were $128,325. The 
highest price paid for a single picture was 
$42,000, which was bid by Durand-Ruel &| 
Sons for Titian’s portrait of Giorgio Cor-) 
naro, This is one of the largest sums ever) 
paid for a painting sold in this country. | 
The next highest price paid on $20,000. for 
Corot’s St. Sebastian, © | 
The bidding on the Titian started oa 
$20,000, and was very spirited ‘until the 
The bids first raised in ne: al 
when a thirty-thousand-dollar ‘bid was, 
reached jumped to $35,000. After that the | 
rising bids ranged from $100 ‘to $500, and 
before the painting was bid in the auc: 
tioneer had considered fifty-dollar raises, 
The bidding for the Corot was also spirit- 
ed, starting in at $10,000 and jumping in 
one-thousand-dollar raises to $15,000. Brom 
then on the bidding varied from one-tnou- 
sand-dollar to fifty-dollar jumps until 
finally the picture went under the hammer | 
to Cottier & Co, The prices paid for the re- 
maining pictures ranged from $225 for a 
Currier to $8,250 for a Millet landscape, 
Following is a list of the collection, the 
and the purchasers: 


‘by J. Haren Rhodes cree, $225. 
- 4 c Sake chel;, 2 ; 500 
Wils aD ad ee a eat i 
as . by “William hell 
rt h Cottier phage 525. 
" . Caen. 425 | 
& ddd pit nbs! 
- William Merritt Chase; tis 
by Julian Alden’ Weir; pur- 
2 S ae ae ee . 1,125 
. Gedney Bunce; purchased 
Ak thats spt eeeessenecers PROS: 1,950 
‘Coast ral, y Theodore Rous- 
eee d by L, Laflin Kellogg... 2,450 
bens nseuses,’’ by Hilaire Ger- 
iy Degas; purchased by Cot- 
bi bY by wiisine Gerdain ba 
+ , Durand-Ruel.. 6,100 
a ,000 
“ie 1,450 
Ah eg ; mers... L, 
¥ ord Renoir; pur- 
ee mois, Belle Isle, 1886,’’ 
. t; purchased by Durand- a 
“Rov “four d*Aibane, Bariy 
. ude Manet; purchased 
jae! , 000 
7,050 
-Ru Magee Ueki kates 100 
” by A @ Monti; 
dee 3 tbat 2,050 


de la 


THE GALLERIES. 
Collection of Pictures at the 


ely ca dp® see a private collection 
nt aity worth seeing. There care. 

vent¥-six pictures, but the quality 
high and in many cases pre- 
y ITS. icity of taste has been 
very choice discernment, and the 

almost evet'y instance suggests 


Hivated instinct for 
; fine and worthy, but 
to possess it for the pleasure 
: of its companionship. So with | 
yus and heartfelt eclecticism the | 
ranged from Titian to our) 
, dipping, by the way, into | 
; of the Barbizon men, and 
the lster harvest of im- 
, always with no mere pride 
on, but with the serious desire 
igent and appreciative possession. 
its way a model of what asmall col- 
‘should be. 
s example by 
Georgio Cornaro (so valled) from 
, collection of the Earl of Carlisle at 
fo ahaa The person represented, 
ae ch a man and a gentleman in the 
of life, holds a falcon on 


Titian is the noble por- 


his left 
wrist, while he strokes its plumage with. 
the other hand. His figure, erect and of 


, is clad in a black. 


commanding 
velvet doublet; and the high-bred features, | 


browned with the health of open air, and 
the curly black hair and beard show in 
profile against a dark background, Crowe 
and Cavaleaselle in their “Life and Times 
of Titian” write of this picture with am 
enthusiasm that few will hesitate to in- 
dorse. For it is a portrait of the 


er. +. Yr “ a 


| 
| 
| 


“| choice example of Renoir’s 


grandezza, so appreciable yet ult 
to define, a certain conscious and yet per-— 
fectly natural and acceptable air of supe- 
riority; moreover, with a sort of courtly | 
per SS. its impressiveness of 
color and in the mingled breadth and 

completeness of the execution, it is a gal- 


inty Ee of the first rank. 
: vis the Barbizon pictures is that 
beautifu 


example of Daubigny, “The 
Cliff at Villerville,” from the collection of 
'Mr. William H. Fuller. It will be remem- 
‘pered as showing an undulating stretch 
of grassy ground, dotted with cows and 
crowned on the left with scrub trees shel- 
tering a farm, while below lies the broad 
| est of the Seine. Its smooth waters 
flecked with two sails, extends to a distant 
horizon of low cliffs, over which mounts a 
gray sky quivering with rose that parts at 
one point into a glint of blue. It is an 
' exquisitely balanced composition, with 
'a harmony of quiet reserve, tender lumi- 
nousness and infinite delicacy of tone and 
feeling; being in Daubigny’a sweetest 
manner, blended with a more than usual 
dignity. The “St. Sebastian” by Corét 
‘ig the one that the artist in writing to a 
friend said he hoped “to make a ovely 
picture.” That he succeeded who will 
‘deny? The dying saint, tended by holy. 
women; the two little angel children that 
float above them holding the crown and 
‘palm of mattyrdom and the soldiers dis-. 
appearing over the brow of the hill may 
seem to but accessories to the picture. 
| One may be disposed to feel that even to 
the artist himself the setting of the scene 
|was of more’ import than the dramatis. 
| persone. For the dignity and pathos of 
‘the subject seem to come to it through the 
landscape; a grove of birch trees, with 
supple hewn ess of stem and limitless subt- 
\lety of ight and shade on their polished 
| bark, and overhead a canopy of rich olive 
| foliage, trembling in the stir of atmosphere 
‘and melting on its edges into a delicate 
| lace of luminous leaves, silhouetted against 
}a sky that throbs with pale light. Lovely, 
‘indeed, the picture is with a beatitude that 
is full of spiritual fervor! The “Landscape” 
poy Millet’ is an unusual example, 
goribts picture. Glorious, 
| the grandeur and immensity of the sky, 
| vividly blue with large sails and trailing 
eee of sunlit ¢ 
up toward it, for the strip of land is a 
| mountain crest, a ledge from which one 
'is brought into close ellowship with the 
| purity and spaciousness of the upper air, 
| and tastes of its exaltation. 
| ‘he impressiveness of this picture is 
'in its suggestion of nature's elemental 
_fore?, and we. shall find the same in the 
“Westchester Hills” by one of our own 


| masters, the late Homer D, Martin. But | 


‘with what difference of spiritual mood! 
In Millet’s picture the note is exuberant, 
| inviting the spirit to range freely, in this 
of Martin’s the prompting is to compressed 
| intensity of emotion. The twilight is gath- 
‘ering and the strong earth is folding 
‘itself to slumber; there is a contrast of its 
‘solid stability with the sky’s trembling 
‘incertitude of light. The miracle of re- 
_eurring rest in its relation to matter and 
‘to the experience of humanity is wrought 
‘out. here in large Homeric fashion, which 
'makes one every time one sees the picture 


‘more deeply impressed with its serious | 


‘elevation. Of the other American pict- 
lures let us particularly notice Albert gee 
‘Ryder’s “Moonlight,” one of the most 
peautiful examples of that strangely in- 
teresting artist, a poem in color, pene- 
‘trated with emotion and having passages 
of gem-like tone, full and limpid. There 
|are also two particularly charming ex- 
| i i of W. Gedney Bunce and J. Alden 
air, 
| Surely thisexhibition should win some new 
| adherents to the cause of Impressionism, 
'so called. At the end of the long gallery 
| Bates one of Monet’s Cathedral’ series, 
_fianked at ample distance on the one side 
| by his picture of the rocks and blue sea at 
Belle-Isle and on the other by Renoir’s 
'“Bordighiera.” Sunlight in all. three! in 
the Cathedral picture veiled by the pure 
|mists of early morning; in_ the Belle-Isle, 
lusty and expansive; in Renoir’s. softly 
seductive, shedding a bloom over the water 
| and the landscape as ripe and warm as 
| eolee upon a girl’s silky flesh. This 
| “Bordighiera” seems to be a pareeey. 
andseapes, 


but a) 
because of: 


ud. One is lifted. 


Bd 


| racehorses at the starti fe 
| other ballet girls in the ried hg The 
latter especially is firm tone, reaching 
| from deep, sonorous color through a dainty 
-arpeggio up to high and vivid notes, and 
both are brilliant examples of gesture and 
“movement, without any trace of that in- 
difference to ugliness which repels not a 
few people in some of this artist’s work 
|By Manet are “Le Fumeur” and “Sortie 
| der Port de Boulogne;” the one a broad 
/and masculine presentment of an old man 
| ina rich scheme of brown and drab tones; 
_ the other a very effective, if somewhat 
forced, impression of boats upon a smooth 
| sliding sea. By Sisley is a winter scene, 
| very ifferent from his usual tranquil sunny 
Pre ugaege bee og that delicate in- 
of feeling so isti 
| gente art g characteristic of his 
stly there is “L’ Esperance,” i 
de Chavannes; painted when Pranierene 
recovering from the grip of the invader; a 
symbolic picture of tender melancholy 
istirred by the first breath of awakening 
‘hope. A naiveté, as of a new spirit still 
‘distrustful of itself, pervades the whole, 
composition; and a tenseness of saddened’ 
'feeling—the grave monotony of the color! 
scheme, which, however, buds forth in 
little bright accents of color in the fore- 
| ground. _It is a picture which, the more 
peer ceaten er yields 7 Raber? of ar- 
ik completeness and be 
ess of pear e isi autiful serious- 
out a doubt this is the most enjoy- 
able exhibition presented so far this conned 
and no one interested in pictures of varied 


‘$49,000 FOR TITIAN PORTRAIT. 


|\MILLIKEN COLLECTION _ BRINGS 
| $128,325 AT AUCTION. 


The Sale Last NightWas One of the Most 
Interesting “Eyer’ Held in New York 
—The Twenty-six Paintings Put Up Seid 
at an Average of Nearly $5,000 Each. 


| By far the most interesting collection of 
|paintings offered at auction in New York 
| this season, that belonging to E. F. Milliken 
| was sold by Thomas E. Kirby as auctioneer 
|for the American Art Association in Men- 
\delssohn Hall last evening, and the sale 
\was as interesting as the collection itself. 
|The twenty-six pictures sold fetched a 
| total of $128,325, or an average price of very 
‘nearly $5,000 each, which has rarely if ever 
been equalled at the public sale of so small 
|a collection in this city. 

| The top figure of the, lot, $42,000, paid 
‘for Titian’s portrait ‘ofGiorgio Cornaro, 
'has been exceeded-only by half a dozen 
‘paintings disposed, of here at public sale, 
‘if indeed this Titian is not within the half 
dozen highest-priced paintings knocked 
down in the New York auction mart. 

| It was very much of a Degas night at 
| Mendelssohn . Hall; it was certainly an 
|impressionists’ night, notwithstanding. the 
\top figure brought by the Old Master. 
| Degas’s picture of the side scenes of a 
'theatre, “Les Coulisses,” or “Behind the 
Scenes” for those who prefer their titles 
|in English, was sought by people in all 
| parts of the house, and from $1,000 the 
| price of it was sent up to $6,100. 

_ It called forth the liveliest bidding of the 
‘evening, and a part of the time Mr. Kirby 


could scarcely call the bids rapidly enough’ 


‘for the eager bidders. Interests who have 
| been generally looked to as ready to protect 
‘productions of the impressionists ceased 
i! idding at half the final price of the paint- 
ing. 
‘sition went for $1,000 less. 
Monet’s facade of the Rouen Cathedral 
in early morning, which was sold for $3,100 
'at. the American Art Association’s sale 


The same artist’s racetrack compo- | 


if 


LS 


‘Daubigny’s lovely “Cliff a | 
mped from the first bid of $2,500 to. $4,000, 
i 1g at $5,500; and ad of Homer 
in’s “Westchester - Hillis,” which has: 
m so widely commended, while be- 
aning the reluctance of American pict- 
buyers to offer liberally for works of | 
first American painters, took satis-) 
on in the fact that this well-known 
vas went up to within $200 of the ad-. 
able Daubigny, although Millet’s poetic. 
m (No. 22 of the catalogue) was sent. 
to $8,250. 
y work of Puvis de Chavannes 
of at public sale here brought’ 
may very likely be found in a. 
hern city. When next it is publicly | 
Corot’s “St. Sebastian” went to the | 
ected figure of $20,000, and che 
miscatalogued “Green ' Bodice,” | 
h was made to appear as “Reflections” 
name borne by another of Mr. Weir’ Pe 
s—was obtained ‘for $1,125, although | 
been expected to go higher: 


ecord of the sale in detail is as | 


[SERRE Saco Ga ea RUT ha $225 | 
Butmarte,” Michel; J. T. Wilson.. 500. 
ee of a Boy,” W. M. Hunt; Cottier ios | 

Beat Re Ie ee Sion cassie ob Ms Sinise SEEN 25 | 
he Schick Doctor,” Van der Heuval: | 
"ELD Supt ilies oad 01 0A ae 425 | 
oonlight,” A. P. Ryder; Cottier & Co. 1,500 | 
ortrait,’’ W. M. Chase; S. Peters.... 325 | 
een Bodice,” Alden Welr; Knoedler 

Rial aie DpeREE MPEG shew" &IC's Bh oe ieataly WOE idee 1,125 4 

i ice, Mg Gedney’ ‘Bunce: 8 Peters. 1,950 j 

“Coast of Portugal,” Rousseau; 1. Lafiin 1 
MIEN EE ea ewiis ne) alace te ao e'e eas we stdin ba ele wae SIE NN) 2's fe 2,450 

Ore des” Danseuses," Degas; Cottier 
Berea hice: cepa Sa amas he dae be 500 | 
RRR Ne ie. Bats aiken Misia Vinh ailace’ wot at dk 6,100 | 
1 egas; Cottier & Co...... 5,100 | 
Ww at, Moret, ie Sisley: Glaenger & Co. 1,450 | 
ge Renoir; Durand-Ruel.. R00 | 
-Isle,” ent Durand-Ruel...... 1,300 | 
Monet; Knoedler | 
oR ee ee 4,000 | 
4 

LA RAS Fs A SMR eh ea 7,050 | 

- Smoker, Manet: Durand-Ruel . 2,100 


Pali of Fire,” * Monticelli; S. P. Avery, Sr. 2,050 | 
eek ernment of the Queen,” Delacroix; 


[cesta ERS 2) | MERE ee aa 2,706 
Daubigny: N. E | 

OS USS SSB SS AS Pe ee 5,500 
’ Millet: Wililam Macbeth.. 8,250 | 


Sn Eas SUSE EEG VEE I GS es Gale SM 5,300 
“St. Sebastian,” Cordt; Cottier & Co.. 


25 “Hope,” Chavannes; top r ys eo scccuicls Ue 4,100 | 
Giorgio Cornaro,” Titlan; Durand-Ruel. ‘ 000 | 
ue Ee eee $128.25 


Collection. 


y meet ate gs were sold tn. Men- 
delssohn Ff 
hem. the rait of Giorgio Cornaro.” 

“by Titia Ng etizine $42,000: 

sixth highest price ever paid in America 

for a picture at a public sale The Durand- 

“Ruel firm of dealers was ineGurepasr 

. Next to this came the * bestian,’” by 

Corot, the opening bid for Thich was $10,- 


| 000, the offers go’ng 
* $20.000. was reache 5 which price. the 
; work was mgs coe) wn to Cottier & Co 


The paintings.comprised the collection of 

: EL F. Milliken of 
by the American Art Association: 
“the interest in the prices brought by the 
ere painte*s, curiosity was shown as 


"artist. in the eo'lection—in this case the 
| “Westchester Hils”’ by Homer D. Mar- 
)tin--would bring a higher price than was 
} paid for it at the Fivans sale in 1909, when 
‘it broueht $4.750 This. patriotic interest was 
gratified. for the picture went to 
“genheim for $5, 300. 


Titian Frings £12,00 at, Sale at sateen | 


¢ night for $128,325. one of | 


This was the. 


090 jumps until ; 


is city. and were sold | 
Next to) 


te whether the best examp’e by a hative| 


BD. Gug- | 


| Bs beat 


C) 


MILLIKEN COLLECTION 
| cae UN oe les 


Ganies by Corot 
est Price, $20,000, at Ameri- 
can Galleries Sale. 


Petey et ee eee ee ee er ee one ee 


HIGHEST PRICES PAID FOR 
PICTURES BY AMERICANS. 


Meissomier’s ‘1807,’’ $66,000. 

(Purchased by A. T. Stewart, and 
by his will presenited to the Metro- 
politan Museum.) 


Rosa Bonheur’s “The Horse Fair,” 


and presented to the Metropolitan 
Museum.) 


Van Dyke’s Marchese di Spinola, 
$50,000. 
(Purchased by M. Kmoedler and 
resold abroad.) 
Fortuny’s ‘Choosing a Model,” 
$42,000. 
(Purchased by Senator W. A. 
Clark.) 
Titian’s Giorgio Camaro, $42,000. 
(Purchased last night by Durand- 
Ruel, acting, it is said, for J. Pier-_ 
4 pont Morgan.) 


| Qe oe Mer Ore Ber Gar Gre O10 Gor Oe or Oso Ber ee Ser Gee Dov Hes Doo Ber GoGo or Bre 


$53,000. 
(Purchased by W. H. Vanderbilt 
4 


Acting, it fs said, for J. Pierpont Mor- 
gan, Durand-Ruel, an art dealer, aftera 
lively struggle for its possession, pur- 
@hased one of Titian’s mastempiecee last} 
night, when the magnificent collection | 


of E. F. Milliken was auctioned off. 


Mr, Milliken’s gallery had depended | 


rather on its quality than its qnantity. 


The total realized at the sale, which was 
conducted at Mendelssohn Hall by the 
American Art Galleries, was $128,325, al-) 
though there were only twenty-six can-| 


vases in the collection. 
Best Picture Held to End. 


Interest, of course, centred 


end. 


ennui, for each sale provoked lively 
‘bidding, particularly in the case of | 
Morot’s “St. Sebastian,” which brought | 


$20,000, and was the only one beside the | 


Titlan which sold for a five-figure sum. 


After the applause caused by the un-| 


veiling of the masterpiece had subsided, | 
Mr. Kirby, the auctioneer, 


to be sold in this country. Then he) 
asked for bids. 
“Twenty . thousand. dollars,’ came a 


voice, and then the fight was on. Twen-)} 
ty-five thousand dollars was the next 
ibid, and this was raised another $5,000.) 
by a third. Another addition af an equal | 
amount proved enough for the new-| 
comer, and then the first two had the; 
field to themselves. 


the following Severs broue hes 
prices: 


Rousseau’ s “Coast of Portugal’’.. 


rings Next High- 


_Degas’s “Les Conlisses’’....... o hip'Wielaisiou ope 
mul Durand-Ruel. ase 
Degas’s ‘‘Les Courses’’......... ce eeueesesecs 
ie: * ‘Cottier & Co. ALN 

Monet's ‘‘Rouen Cathedral’’........+49 
ey ‘ 'M. Knoedler & ‘Co. 4 
|Manet’s ‘Port du Boulogne’ .......4¢sse0. 

M. Knoedler & Co. 
“Manet’s “Le Fumeut’’, 


‘Daubigny’ s “Villerville’”’.. 


2 Pn8OMO- OO“ OOH OME HD OME BOMBA ON OHOMOROHIMPNONENO BOHOL HO OnOnS Os 


in: the | 
Titian—the portrait of Giorgi Camaro; | 
and this being held to the very last had} 
the effect of keeping. each one of the) 
fashionable crowd in his seat until the 


There was, however, no reason for 


explained | 
that it was the only Titian ever likely | 


; : hire,’ ‘0 
the financier is credited 
paid $150,000. 
year bought a Van ‘Dyck for which h 
paid $120,000. - i 


“William C. Whit 


In addition ‘to. those already mentio 


renesenn 3 


L. L, Kellogg. 


Durand- Ruel. ; 
Paes | 


N. Ee: Montross. 


| $128,325. The highest price paid wa: 
bid by Durand-Ruel & Sons for. 
portrait of Giorgio Cornaro.~ 
Sebastian brought $20, 000. 

- Following is a partial ist of 


tures and their Aurchasens: a a A 


Waa by mhewlere 6 a: 
purchased by L, flin Kellogg. ii Beat; 
‘Les Coulisses, ” by Hilaire Germain dgard 
Degas; purchased b Durand-Ruel.. i... 
Les Courses,’’ by Hilaire Germain Edgard 
Es Sa purchased by Cottier & Co.. 
Hlfet de Neige a Moret,’’ by Alfred Sis- 
i ley; purchased bY Bugene W. Glaenzer... 1, 
een eared: ‘ ee 3 d’ Albane, arly ae 
te sti aude Manet 
Knoedler a Coli Mh NPE ae 
“Sortie du Port de, Boulogne,’’ b 
a ag ead Bad ae Knoedler & Co... ie 
umeur,’’ by ouard Ma chas = 
ed by Purana Bae ae bat 


S918 00 9 aie" ae Chahele tetarene tetas 


e gnased ee de la Reine, PO yi EG sea i 
Se veep purchased by Henry Hg sf 
ya ee sce eee ates 2, 
a erville, ot b ; 
Francois Daubigny; purchased Be a hee 
es axe ng .mped yaar ele skis ches Ce eneaen eae 


Cee weed oe wwe Dy 


© ao ge 08 6 ee a eblevele t wis 


thee 


Esiahere Rat - 


ane 
it 


ee EL Kirby, of the American 

é Aswicintion, ‘on d $128,325, was realized aa 

only twenty-six works. 

sale diag not begin until nearly 9 Biolock, | 
about an hour, So spirited was 

i _ Lively applause was excited by 

‘S “Rouen Cathedral: Tour d’Albane, 


4 serinhde “Sortie du Port de Boulogne,” . 
Fae ‘Which was $2,000, ang which gold 
“No painting, -however, was more cor- 
E. ae collection of | dially applauded than, “Homer D. Martin's 
aM Mendelssohn ‘Hall last “Westchester Hills,” whiéh, starting at $2,500, 


an: ment Nanny to $5,800, at ania figure tt went 
a m, 


orgi occa eee 
the evening, $42,000. at | 
8s. Durand-R ; 


reached $20,000. The painting, which ett! 

€ highest figure of the » Was Titian’s 
; auctioneer, put up | | Portrait of Giorgio Cornaro.” The first bid was 
wasa fashionable gath- $5000 t and was quickly followed by $2, 000 Bad 
® in addition to the regu- ».000 bids until $42,000 was reached, 


never miss a sale of this | The prices and es of buyers follow: 
Brominent private collec Pp Bee y 


/C..D. Currier, “Study of a _Heaa, J. Hargen 
HShat an important Titian | res ies ae PSAP EM Tye Beta Wee} 
(wees ichel, “‘Montmartre tH Pw Wilson...... if 
hen Moms Hunt, See ot a Boy,’ Cot- 525 
casion. If. the Prk col he Van ‘Det Hetivei” “The. Quark’ Poptart eT 
present bought they didso [4p lee P. Ryder, ““Moonlight ‘Gotten & Co. .i1 11,500. 
lers, j (Altera M. Chase, “Portrait” Pet 825 


teres 2. enaee : 
Weir, * P iettveat & Cops s 21984 
hest price of the eo W, Geine Bunce, Venta ” S. Pet ee | 


een ses 


seau, “Coast of Portugal,” L. Laflin ye 

. Deeks, rs | des” Dabisouses, "4" tees . Hi 
FO eee rcices on MI ALE eo IK 9 ° oi 

- GE. De Les Coulisses,’’ urar tuel.... 6,100 - 

B- @ Degas,” « Courses Cottier & came Tt) 

) Algea Sisley. “Bet de Neige a Moret,” E. Glaen- | 


WE Aah Rae SOR A i ed (phi ° Lae 1, 
it sola | Aseuste Renoir, oar Durand- : ei 


thet buyer 


uel. ...., 
Claude a oe de Port-—-Domoi le 
oil. 1886,’" Dura a's oe edna rtssesesees Ly 
de Boulogne” Claude se ie 


It was bought 
other, ainting S sold as fol- 
ce,’ ® Pavi de Cha- 


cee oun” 
3 to nivernen 


“Rouen Salhnati: Tour Albane, H 
arly Morning,’ Knoedler & Co 


path rmat a sree yay a 
Edouard Manet, “Sortie an Port de Boulogne, 
Knoedler & CO. -s. 40.5 Dis id sah ais aR Bh 


uard Manet, “he umeur,’? Durand “Riel eign’ = 00 
. “Adolphe Monticelli, “The Ball of Fire i 
ery, . 26 ware bie a iel ela el eld Seiene 
| Bugene * Delacroix, “Le Gouvernement’ de la Reine 2,700, 
en bad Oey sicie'e sia bts ews aictiae SERA e 
im 4 Mite Vitlerviite, baieaes (2 
ae aubleny, ‘The Clift at 


SP Ae NY's tine wes eee eaee e* eee eeee 5, ; 
1 F, aft ri tn ner wisn 8.250, 
3 “Mftet eee "Ceri enact 


50, to eral Bugene ea 
é ae Courses, ” 35.100, Bs 
e 


“high art at. lelss 
ing. aie picture, Titiar ) 
‘Giorgi. Camaro,” — 
bs b Durand-Re 1, a 


se fo 

ce was Corot’s “St. 
sold for $20,000 to cot- 
ae me for a wealthy. 
me “Me- | 


; 5,100; “Daubleny's ne 


Bela to “themseieee se se ee ; a Fe) 


—ea=———a——x————SSSS—<“‘~;~*t”w”w”””””OO™;™;~™ 


rao a sags 


$42,000, which was bid 


en i ihe bidding vi: 


oe. 
Pets, ‘Moonilighi,”* by Atber 


Pas » ante by W.. Gedney: fei: purehi 


ieee price ae + uy : 


Sons for Titian’ s portrait of 
Maro. anes is one of Soin jar =4 


“Corot’s ‘St. ibe cae ; ie 

The bidding on the Titian started 
$20,000, and was very sae na 
The” Ryde. doe raise i 


‘sand-dollar to fifty 
finally the picture went under 
to Cottier & Co. ‘The prices pa 
maining pictures ranged from — 
Currier to $8,250 for a Millet 1 
Following is a list of the ca 
prices, and the purchasers: sf ie 
“ Stud, a Heed, Doe amc BA Currier: ) 2.) 
Seenaned i by de Garcon Ei veka 3225. 
‘*Montmarte,’’ by Georges: Michel; “pur= PH 
chased by J. T. Wilson....sessseeesevce 500. 
“ Portrait ofa. Boy,’ by Willan, ‘Morris 
oe urchased by Cottier & Co.. a Dae 
+ seen Doctor,”? by Antoine van) 
“Bauvel: purchased iy Everes. bake 


tee 


ased by Cot ttl ae ea wee aw eeeee 

Ne “Pongal bead ier kicriaagd Nrerride ‘ Gha : 
chased by s. Peters 4 ane eae - B25. 
Reflections,” by Julian Aiden’ 3 Weir} 3 pure ; 
ased by ag age Sr OG oh = Bue 


shdoies 5 Roam 19 


MCD en sa! Pi 
of . Po: a. DY, 
seau; purchas palin ae 
“Loge des ehied fe 
apa ee: Degas; purchased by Cot 
owt ‘Les. patieace.s by ‘“Filaie Ge 
gard ey purchased te pee 
sf “Les, Benet ow aged by. 


a de. Duran Roel she 
ue ot ange Manet; pee ura 
cs tere es we 


and Boosh ‘Cathedral; “Tour a. 
eon ing," by te Manet 
noedler & 


[9] penne nee es eee 


a a” one eee ee Ne ee 


Pere ART COLLECTION 
OF 


MR. E. PF. MILLIKEN 


No. 26 of Catalogue 


Portrait of Giorgio Cornaro 


TIZIANO_VECELLI 


CATALOGUE 


OF 


Mise, F. MILLIKEN’S 


PRIVATE COLLECTION OF 


VALUABLE PAINTINGS 


TO BE SOLD AT ABSOLUTE PUBLIC SALE 


AT MENDELSSOHN HALL 


ForTIETH STREET, EAST oF BROADWAY 


ON FRIDAY EVENING, FEBRUARY 14TH 


BEGINNING AT 8.30 O’CLOCK 


ON VIEW DAY AND EVENING 
AT THE AMERICAN ART GALLERIES 


MADISON SQUARE SOUTH 


FROM FEBRUARY 7TH UNTIL THE MORNING OF SALE 
INCLUSIVE 


THOMAS E. KIRBY, OF THE AMERICAN ART ASSOCIATION, WILL 
CONDUCT THE SALE 


THE AMERICAN ART ASSOCIATION, Manacgrs 
NEW YORK 
1902 


————<$—$—— 


- s ry 2 
is wy 
a fe 
5 m 
. “ 
nt 
2 : 
‘ * 
Ys i 
4 
° — 
‘ 
is 
3 
Se 
‘ 4 
« A 
Lik 


Press of J. J. Little & Co. 
Astor Place, New York 


ce pce ee SHAAN oo. 


= 
: ins. ee ; 


| 
REPRI 


CATALOGUE NO. 


24 


Study of a Head I 


é 


, CHARLES FRANCOIS 
+ Zh 
The Cliff at Villerville 21 


me ¥ ar , is 
ae eee ss 
‘ ho a 7 
oe ds 
< x @ a 
DEGAS, HILAIRE GERMAIN EDGARD 
CATALOGUE NO. 
Loge des Danseuses : 10.) an 
Les Coulisses II 
Les Courses . a e 


DELACROIX, FERDINAND VICTOR EUGENE 


. Le Gouvernement de la Reine 20 


HUNT, WILLIAM MORRIS . . “Vora 


Portrait of a Boy g°7 
MANET, EDOUARD | or Soe 
Sortie du Port de Boulogne 2 


Le Fumeur 18 


MARTIN, HOMER D. 


Westchester Hills 23 


MICHEL, GEORGES ys cd 


Montmartre 2 


MILLET, JEAN FRANCOIS “Ae 


Landscape ‘ 22 


Grotte de Port-Domois—Belle- 
: Isle, 1886 15 


16 
19 
25 
14 


~ Coast of Portugal 9 


=R, ALBERT P. 


Moonlight . 


EY, ALFRED 
oH . ie 
Effet de Neige 4 Morét 13 


VAN DER HEUVEL, ANTOINE 


The Quack Doctor 


WEIR, JULIAN ALDEN ee 


Reflections 


‘THE PAINTERS REPRESENTED IN 


Mr. rE Re Milliken’s Collection 


and Appreciations 


mip a 


4 = = » -_ ‘ ri 
#4" a att ~ T 
.° " , oh? : ar ee 
4 = - 7 iv ’ 
a, ‘, 7 
i S % % 4 


W. GEDNEY BUNCE 


The art of W. Gedney Bunce is identified with the city 
of his choice. He has long made his home in Venice, 
and pictures her with the quiet reserve of intimacy; having 
a special fondness for the delicate moods of atmosphere, 
veiling the brilliant coloring in mystery. In this prefer- 
ence may linger something of the influence of his early 
training under Paul Jean Clays, in Antwerp, whither he 
proceeded after some preliminary study with William 
Hart. Clays was the first painter of the sea to break with 
the old traditions of storm and furor, and to paint the 
normal aspects of the water, varying under different 
moods of light and atmosphere: the magical charm of 
morning, the golden brilliancy of evening twilight, and 
the infinite variety of tones which light produces upon 
waves. These ideals and the quiet sincerity of spirit which 
prompts them belong equally to Mr. Bunce. 


WILLIAM MERRITT CHASE 


Eagerly assimilative and with a temperament sensitively 
alert, William M. Chase has few rivals among American 
painters in resourcefulness of technique and artistic feel- 


eS aa Ls 


ing in many mediums; working in oil, water color, pastels, 
and etching with equal ease and certainty. To this must 
be added a perennial freshness of study, which has kept 
him continually familiar with the galleries of Europe, and 
the influence which he has exerted at home over a wide 
circle of students. 

He was born in Franklin, Indiana, in 1849, and when 
still young became a pupil of B. F. Hayes in Indianapolis, 
afterwards practising in the West as a painter of portraits 
and still life. Then he came to New York and entered the 
schools of the National Academy of Design, studying also 
with J. O. Eaton until 1872, when he migrated to the 
Royal Academy at Munich. There he was the pupil of 
Alexander Wagner and Karl Piloty, and under this influ- 
ence produced such good genre pictures of the German 
style as “The Court Fool.” About 1883 appeared his 
portraits of the painters Frank Duveneck and F. S. 
Church, and a number of landscapes of Venice and the 
American coast. These proved that he had passed out 
of the influence of Piloty into a search for light colors and 
brilliant sunshine. Then followed the influence of Whis- 
tler and of the study of Velasquez and the appreciation of 
the subtleties of tone. Thus he has run the gamut of the 
chief artistic movements and revivals of the past quarter 
of a century, and has acquired an eclecticism very indi- 
vidual to himself and distinguishably modern in spirit. 

His landscapes, especially those painted near his sum- 
mer home on the Shinnecock Hills, are brilliant examples 
of actuality, seen and rendered in true painter fashion and 
with an evident joyousness. Deeper quality of feeling 
appears in his portraits; those of women and young girls, 
especially, revealing a charming tenderness, and in still 


life he often shows a fulness of zesthetic purpose most im- 
pressive. Then again he will fling upon his canvas some 
scrap of studio or domestic genre, fascinating in its light- 
someness of motive. Whether skimming the surface or 
stirring deeper water, his craft is always graceful and cun- 
ningly handled. 


PIERRE PUVIS DE CHAVANNES 


1824-1898 


In the art of Puvis de Chavannes, so tranquil and aloof 
from the manners of his time, enclosed within the walls of 
his own sturdy self-contained personality, there is some 
analogy with a mountain lake that is fed by innumerable 
rivulets. Busy and bubbling, they lose themselves in the 
infinite calm of the still, transparent water. For, while 
Puvis yielded to no direct influence, he absorbed the 
movements of his time and the influence of several mas- 
ters, merging them into his own distinct personality. 
Thus his work, classic in conception and spirit, shows a 
reliance upon form, though not after the manner of the 
academicians: it is so far realistic that it is based upon an 
intimate study of facts both in the human figure and in 
landscape; and it is poetical, but with a moral or philo- 
sophical significance. Above all, it is abstract. This was 
the personal element that tinged each influence and re- 
ceived them all into one single unity. 

With him the idea was the significant thing. His poetry 


“attaches its emotion to the idea; the idea is the fact.” 
All his study of the fact was to reach the idea which it 
embodied, and it was but natural that his conception and 
the spirit of his work should be classic. The study of his 
whole art life was to force himself from the material and 
to express the abstract; to subtilize his color and to sim- 
plify his design; to extract from the human figure and 
from landscape their essential characteristics; to express 
even in a gesture the spiritual impulse that prompts the 
play of muscle. In this way he attains the simplicity of 
the primitive Italian painters, but by a reverse process; 
for they were simple from lack of knowledge, while he 
attained simplicity by the shredding off of what he could 
do and by a recognition of the largeness that is to be 
reached by being simple. Nor was this the bias of a 
nature emasculated and visionary. Puvis was a man of 
sturdy physique, practised in athletic exercises, a bon 
vivant, who, after a day of unremitting labor with doors 
closed to everybody, could enjoy the concrete delights of 
a good dinner. “ Understand, I am not a saint,” he said 
to a friend; “in art there cannot and ought not to be 
saints. One does beautiful things only by loving woman 
and voluptuousness and all that is good.” This is the 
philosophy of Wein, Weib, und Gesang, but with a dif- 
ference from the ordinary acceptation that his work 
is not drowned in natural impulses, but done in the calm 
that follows after, with the recollection only of the passion. 

He was by birth a Burgundian, a Lyonnais by education, 
a poet in temperament, by training analytical and exact. 
His family, an aristocratic one, had been settled for three 
centuries in Burgundy, and his father was Engineer of 
Bridges and Roads at Lyons. The young Puvis had the 


ye ae 
iy OR 
uu 5 : id 
i a7 4 a 
e eh . 


rary | 
aie pay = 
an < U > 


a a classic and eienifie education, nt ay 


oa 


eu ee tyter the Ecole Polytechnique. After a 


Italy he joined the atelier of Henri Scheffer. Then 
: eon visit to Italy, followed by ee eo 


al - studios of Delacroix and Couture: For Scheffer he re- ; ng 


hos all his life a feeling of regard: the influence of a 
Delacroix. and that of Couture was received from their — Pe: 
| ‘S 


ie work ‘rather than. their teaching, and both have left traces 

eieis his method of painting, just as the impressions © 

ed « of the Italians, Piero della Francisca, Fra An- 

i aie Signorelli, and Ghirlandajo, more or less abided 

ith him throughout his life. As John La Farge says, - 
: ed so sensitive as his absorbed a great deal of 
what he. saw.” How these various influences consciously 
ap affected him may be gathered from his own words: “ Be 
on your guard—distrust tradition. Tradition is only a 
guide; there is a tradition of error as well as a tradition 
ae truth, and man knows to his sorrow which of the two 
is more active. Go not to the most brilliant, the most 
skilful, the most surprising enchanters, but to the sincerest, 
the simplest—to those who have not thought of astonish- 
ing you, but of charming you. Love them and under- 
stand them, and far from taking you away from nature, 
they will continually bring you back to her.” 

The logic of his mind was perpetually in the direction 
of repose and calm; the logic of his technique perpetually 
towards greater simplification, the voluntary abandonment 
of what is of trivial or only secondary interest. In both 
cases the logic which began in himself may have been 
purstied more relentlessly from an instinctive distrust of 


the turmoil of art around him, its exaggerated appeals 
and magnification of the little. Unappreciated as he was 


at first, he more and more found a refuge within the calm | 
and simplicity of his own character, and made these the 


foremost qualities of his technical expression. That the 
simplification was carried so far as to result at times in 
a barrenness of effect can hardly be denied: color becom- 
ing attenuated until it is almost colorless; form and fea- 
tures reduced to a mere indication; draperies ascetic even 
to niggardliness. In fact, the eye will often have to purge 
itself of accustomed predilections before it can fit itself to 
see the subject as Puvis saw it. But, granted that there 
are limitations, defects if you will, the greatness of Puvis 
is largely due to the strength he has gathered from his 
weakness; to his acceptance of limitations as inevitable, 
but to his control of the same until he compels from them 
some value. He followed Napoleon’s advice: “Il faut 
savoir se borner.”” Writing to a young friend in Italy, he 
says: “ The sight of such lovely countries must give you 
riches of many kinds. As for me, my dear child, my 
part in the battle is well determined and well limited, and 
I bring my supplies from nowhere else but France. I, 
too, have seen a great yellow river, but it was made of 
all the mud of the province of La Bresse; and yet some 
flowering bushes and perfumed groves were ravishing. 
All this is nothing but chamber music compared to the 
powerful harmonies that must have struck you; but it 
also has its own grandeur, and its calm grace is very 
penetrating.” Grandeur, calm, and penetrating grace— 
surely these qualities, despite limitations of technique, per- 
haps even because of them, saturate his pictures, espe- 
cially his mural paintings. In these his beautiful equi- 


librium of lines and spaces; the faint and diffused color 
which seems rather to have grown out of the material of 
the building than to have been applied to it; the abstract 
character of the conception, suggesting instead of insist- 
ing upon an interpretation, combine to produce a decora- 
tion essentially architectural, because it involves the same 
elements as the architecture itself should involve. The 
building and architecture are wedded as man and woman. 

The years between 1890 and 1808 brought him long- 
deferred triumph. But it was too late; he had so long 
walked alone with himself and his ideas, self-wrapt and 
self-reliant, that the world’s approval affected him as little 
as its scorn or indifference. 

Two years before his death he was nursed through a 
serious illness by the Princess Cantacuzéne, the intimate 
friend of thirty years, and on his recovery they were mar- 
ried. Her death some eighteen months later left him 
but one desire—to finish his great picture of Saint Gene- 
viéve, begun the year before, and to follow her. But his 
labor at her sick bed and the shock of her loss had finally 
undermined his strength, and the picture was never fin- 
ished. When after several weeks of suffering he felt the 
end at hand, he thanked his friends for their services and 
asked them to retire, that he might die alone. 

His art was not a part of him, it was himself; and he, to 
those who knew him, was a brave and loyal gentleman, 
of high purpose and serene will—sincere, urbane, and 
modest. 


JEAN BAPTISTE CAMILLE COROT 
1796-1875 


Was there ever a happier man than Pére Corot, or one 
better loved by his friends? Happiness and lovableness 
breathe from his pictures. He had inherited the whole- 
some hardiness of the middle-class French character; its 
orderliness and balance, and its shrewd, genial, sprightly 
cheerfulness. His father, a hair-dresser in the Rue 
du Bac, number 37, married a milliner’s assistant, who 
worked at number 1, near the Pont Royal. Two years 
after the birth of Camille, Madame Corot took over the 
millinery business, and with such success that under Na- 
poleon I. Cor6t became court milliner. He sent his son 
to the high school at Rouen, and afterwards apprenticed 
him to a linen-draper’s establishment. When Camille was 
twenty-three his father yielded to his desire to be an artist, 
and promised him a yearly allowance of twelve hundred 
francs, which he doubled twenty-three years later, when 
his son received the cross of the Legion of Honor; for, as 
he said, ‘‘ Camille seems to have talent after all.” 

Corét entered the studio of Victor Bertin, and for five 
years pursued the orthodox course of classic training, 
afterwards visiting Rome and Naples in the company of 
his master. There he remained two and a half years, 
returning in 1827 to exhibit at the Salon. Other visits 
to Italy were made in 1835 and 1845; and it was only 
after this third visit that his eyes were opened to the charm 
of French landscape. He was nearly forty years old when 
he set himself to become the new Corot whom the world 


1 a to beanie the harvest. 
had | discovered the secret of rendering air and light. 
Christ ea the Mount of i al painted in 184, 


a, 
| seems. Tike 2 a convert’s Pepsi: of faith. One 


Be aialite: of his friend Rousseau. Rousseau was dis- 
_ passionately objective in his point of view, a master of 
wee form and construction, rich in color, while Corot, weaker 
2 ide in drawing, saw objects i in masses, narrowed the range of 
his palette, delighting particularly in dark olive greens 
_ and pure grays, and viewed nature as a medium for the 
4 i expression of his own poet-dreams; the one magnificently 
‘- powerful, the other infinitely tender. “ Rousseau is an 
eagle,” Corét himself said, “ while I am a lark that pulses 
Pe: forth little songs in my gray clouds.” 

. His father had given him, in 1817, a little house at Ville 
d’Avray, and here or at Barbizon he spent his time when 
he was not at Paris. How he felt toward nature (for feel- 
ria . ing was eminently the method of his approach) may be 
gathered from a letter to Jules Dupré, in which he de- 
scribes the day of a landscape painter : “One gets up 


early, at three in the morning, before the sun; one goes 
and sits at the foot of a tree; one watches and waits. One 
sees nothing much at first. Nature resembles a whitish 
canvas on which are sketched scarcely the profiles of 
some masses; everything is perfumed, and shines in the 
fresh breath of dawn. Bing! The sun grows bright, but 


has not yet torn asunder the veil behind which lie con- 


cealed the meadows, the dale, and hills of the horizon. 
The vapors of night still creep, like silvery flakes, over the 
numbed-green vegetation. Bing! Bing!—a first ray of 
sunlight—a second ray of sunlight—the little flowers seem 
to wake up joyously. They all have their drop of dew 
which trembles—the chilly leaves are stirred with the 
breath of morning—in the foliage the birds sing unseen— 
all the flowers seem to be saying their prayers. Loves 
on butterfly wings frolic over the meadow and make the 
tall plants wave—one sees nothing—everything is there— 
the landscape is entirely behind the veil of mist, which 
mounts, mounts, sucked up by the sun; and, as it rises, 
reveals the river, plated with silver, the meadows, trees, 
cottages, the receding distance—one distinguishes at last 
everything that one divined at first.” 

How spontaneous a commentary upon his pictures of 
early morning—nature in masses, fresh and fragrant, the 
“numbed green” of the vegetation, the shiver of leaves 
and the twinkling of flowers, the river plated with silver, 
and the sky suffused with misty light! : 

In the same letter he describes the evening: “ Nature 
drowses—the fresh air, however, sighs among the leaves 
—the dew decks the velvety grass with pearls. The 
nymphs fly—hide themselves—and desire to be seen. 
Bing!—a star in the sky which pricks its image on the 


) 


h halt ora eye. ie !—a second star appears 
h oe ry i second eye opens. Be the harbingers of 
ome, fresh and charming stars. Bing! bing! bing! 
_ —three, six, twenty stars. All the stars in the sky are 
keeping tryst in this happy pool. Everything darkens, 
~ the pool alone sparkles. There is a swarm of stars—all 
yields to illusion. The sun being gone to bed—the inner 
: > soul, the sun of art, awakes. Bon! there is my 


bike € dv ee. literally his pictures were done in this way 
ae ae the last part of his life. Forty years of practice 


= with the brush had rendered the actual record of the scene 
ae “comparatively easy, and this he made in Paris, between 
4 y vhich and nature he divided his affection. But the picture 
" ie self had been made during his periods of contemplation 
is Ville d’Avray or Barbizon. Suggestive, also, is his allu- 
. sion in this letter to the nymphs, that hide themselves de- 
fai bi siring to be seen. Cordt, though foremost among the men 
who gave the final quietus to classical landscape, was really 
more classic than the classicists. More ordinary minds, 

like Poussin’s, had been captivated by the forms of Italian 
} landscape and the elegant pageantry of classic archi- 
_ tecture; while the poetic spirit of Corot had found affinity 

with the indwelling genius of the scene. He could realize 

the Oreads, Dryads, and Nereids sporting among the hills, 
groves, and water-courses. They were the necessary ac- 
companiment of the childlike glimpse of nature, the an- 
thropomorphic view which is the child-man’s. Solitude 
is terrible; so also the intrusion of the actual; like the 
ancients he peopled nature with beings of his own crea- 


tion ; sweetly impersonal, responsive only to his own mood. — 
In the picture of ‘‘ St. Sebastian ” in this collection, he has 
seen with the physical eye as well as with the eye of the 
imagination; representing the fact of the martyred saint, 
as well as the vision of the glory that awaits him. It is 
the double viewpoint that characterizes the religious pic- 
tures cf the earlier Renaissance, but its realization here 
in the exquisite landscape, directly inspired by nature— 
in which, too, the exquisiteness of nature is the largest and 
most abiding impression—accentuates the separateness of 
fact and fancy. 

To Corét life was one unbroken harmony. « “ Rien ne 
trouble sa fin, c’est le soir d’un beau jour.” His sister, with 
whom the old bachelor lived, died in the October of 1874. 
On February 23d of the following year, when he had just 
completed his seventy-ninth year, he was heard to say as 
he lay in bed, drawing in the air with his fingers: “ Mon 
Dieu, how beautiful that is; the most beautiful landscape 
I have ever seen!’’ On his deathbed his friends brought 
him the medal struck to commemorate his jubilee, and he 
said: “ It makes me happy to know that one is so loved; 
I have had good parents and dear friends. I am thank- 
ful to God.” With these words he passed away—the 
sweetest poet-painter and the “ tenderest soul of the nine- 
teenth century.” 


Cc. D. CURRIER 


C. D. Currier was born and brought up in Boston; but 
his art life, although he has paid some visits to his home, 
has been associated with Munich. There for many years 


i eae 


he has been one of the most distinguished members of 
the colony of artists; a painter of extraordinary versatility, 
who will one day execute a portrait in the manner of Rem- 
brandt and on another in that of Franz Hals, meanwhile 
doing work which is stamped with his own powerful 
imagination. He is a genius of whom too little is known 
in this country, and whose pictures are scarce because he 
painted with little thought of making sales; working upon 
the impulse of the moment and then throwing the canvas 
aside, as if, his passion appeased, he had no further interest 
in the picture. The few that are owned in this country 
have for the most part been rescued from the dust and 
confusion of his studio by some of the American students 
in Munich who recognized their merit and insisted on 
finding a purchaser for them. His gift of music, though 
uncultivated, is as remarkable as his genius for painting. 
He is, indeed, in every fibre of his being an artist. 


CHARLES FRANCOIS DAUBIGNY 


1817-1878 


4 


While so many of the painters represented in this col- 
lection were daring innovators, Daubigny was the in- 
heritor of the fruits of others’ labors. He was the 
youngest member of the Fontainebleau-Barbizon group, 
and won early recognition which he increased with time. 
Yet he had his special métier. While Rousseau, Corot, 
Dupré, and Diaz, in their several ways, are painters of 


nature, he was a painter of the country. In him, as in 
the English Constable, the lovableness of the paysage 
intime, the familiar countryside, to which men are at- 
tracted by ties of sentiment and daily life, had its faithful 
exponent. His ripest harvest was gathered along the 
rivers of France—the Seine and Oise and Marne—which 
he travelled in a houseboat, fitted up with creature com- 
forts as well as with facilities for painting. The combina- 
tion is suggestive, for Daubigny by choice took life as he 
found it, satisfied with its desirableness. He was not an 
exacting analyst, like Rousseau; or elevated in mood as 
Dupré; not consciously a poet as Corét, or a sharer of 
Diaz’s fantastic or exalted conceptions; only, quite simply 
and normally, a lover of the country. 

Such a love of nature is a survival of, or a return to, the 
simple associations of childhood, and Daubigny in this 
respect was perpetually a boy. His pictures have the 
freshness and spontaneity of boyhood, expressed with 
the virility of a man. 

He was born in Paris, but his childhood was spent near 
L’Isle Adam on the Seine, opposite which he had his home 
in later years, and the influence of which abode with him 
all through his life. Belonging to a family of painters, 
he entered the studio of Delaroche, and in time became 
a candidate for the Prix de Rome. But by some mistake 
he failed to present himself at the proper time, and was 
disqualified. Nothing daunted, he set out for Italy on 
foot with a friend, and visited Florence, Rome, and 
Naples, stopping for a while in Subiaco. When their 
money was becoming exhausted they travelled home on 
foot, and later Daubigny visited Holland. But neither 
Italy nor Holland left its mark upon him; he was still 


ao 


a ch ild 0 0! { France, grown a little older. 


He first appeared 


sae are es The } Harvest ”’ in we Dia iecd to the 
: egion of Honor in 1859, he was made an Officer in 
7 ree years later he died, a victim to the damp 


indie 
sp a8 of the river ; and as he died, the name of - 


of the fa 10 
sp rit anc ‘deliberately poetic vein than with his sweet, 


ef 


_perenni ial youthfulness of character. He was by nature 


ai He | had 1d more affinity. with Corét than with any other 


td 


; brotherhood—less with Corot’s classical 


lovable, with a heart that kept its sweetness fresh and un- 
-_sullied to the end. The lovableness is reflected in his 


_ HILAIRE GERMAIN EDGARD 
DEGAS 


eye vous autres il faut la vie naturelle, a mot la vie 
- factice.” 


Degas is six years older than Monet. In their early 
days they were companions at the symposia in the Avenue 
de Clichy. Monet, muscular, large, and wholesome, 
sought the country and the pure enjoyment of natural 
life; Degas, a little man with round shoulders and shuffling 
walk, sparing and sarcastic in conversation, remained in 
the city to become the realist of artificial life. 


With a contempt for what was banal and an appetite 
that craved for piquancy, he helped himself, with the nice 
selection of an epicure, to this and that in other men that 
could contribute to style. Ingres first attracted him; then 
the suggestive intimacy and quiet harmonies of Chardin; 
later Delacroix’s fine distinction of gesture and movement, 
and Manet’s large simplicity and fluency of modelling; 
lastly the example of the Japanese. From the last he took 
the principle of dispersed composition ; the choice of stand- 
point, allowing the artist to look up from beneath or 
down from above; decorative feeling; the suggestive 
method of emphasizing this and suppressing that; the sur- 
prise of detail, introduced here and there in a perfectly 
arbitrary fashion; and, finally, the preference for type 
rather than for the individual. Out of these various ele- 
ments he has formed a style marvellously expressive and 
entirely personal. ; 

In his range of subjects he started with the grace and 
charming movements of women: trim Parisian laundresses 
and little shop-girls in their boutiques, the toilet and 
négligé of the women of the world, boudoir scenes, scenes 
at court and in the boxes of the theatre. And these sub- 
jects of women were interspersed with studies of that 
other product of man’s love of pleasure—the race-horse. 
These lead to the human animal trained and managed for 
the sport of men—the hallet-girls of the opera house. 
Ruthlessly he has depicted also the Nanas of society, with 
vanished charm and unsatiated animalism. By this time 
he has ceased to care for the charm of women. It fas- 
cinates him to strip the modern woman of her finery and 
show her defects of figure, the product of fashion; to 
spy upon her in some moment of ungainly gesture; to 


eigen 3 

” a. ae 
hery in acrobatic contortions, as the Japanese do 
= Page 


angie he seeks 


At its pleasantest 


| is Women or race- eines it is all one! The 
i supple movement, clean, muscular limbs, and vibrating 
) energy—these alone fascinate him, and offer material for 
rad i: 
pici ctorial expression. Again, those subjects which repel, 
ee 
en while one admires the consummate art displayed in 


= 3! th .eir treatment, are, if anything, moral in their tendency, 
ee ” terrible. commentary upon the vanitas vanitatum of 
Bes, and the more terrible because they are not 
~, prompted by pity but by satiety: a satiety not necessarily 
& £ of indulgence, but of interest. And it is the extreme evi- 
| dence of satiety, of contempt no longer calm, but rabid, 
. that makes his later horrors additionally terrible; not for 
pe effect upon ourselves, but for their testimony to his 
own condition of mind. 
Such a remark as the above puts the writer outside the 
- jimited number of eee who profess to find in these 
ie drawings or paintings a “joy in the sublime beauty of 
— Such extol the marvellous expressiveness with 
which a gesture is characterized, and profess themselves 
indifferent to the ugliness of the gesture; feeling, indeed, 


an extra satisfaction in the sorcery by which abstract 
beauty can be extracted from material so unpromising. 
It is very much a matter of temperament. 

In such a picture, however, as “ Les Coulisses ” in this 
collection, there is no hindrance to one’s pleasure. The 


a 
ye re 
4 i 
f 
' 
‘>? 


grave distinction of color harmony, the captivating sur- 
prise of the unexpected composition, the exquisite light- 
ing, and spontaneous vitality of the figures are alike enjoy- 
able. So, too, in the case of “ Les Courses.” What a 
feeling of space, animation of color and composition, and 
extraordinary vivacity of movement in the horses! To 
any one familiar with the characteristic action of the race- 
horse, the springy, twinkling, dapper, nervous movement 
of the legs as they form a mass of shifting shapes and 
colors at the post, in the few minutes of suspense before 
the start, there is no one who can recall the scene as Degas 
does. 

But to him appreciation is a matter of entire indiffer- 
ence. He is said never to have exhibited, and keeps aloof 
also from Parisian society—an isolated, self-reliant man, 
who paints to please himself. 


FERDINAND VICTOR EUGENE 
DELACROIX 


1799-1863 


In the upheaval of the Revolution, French imagination, 
needing some basis for its ideals, turned back to the Roman 
republic. But when the French republic had been swal- 
lowed up in Imperialism, and the latter had yielded to the 
bourgeois mediocrity of Louis Philippe’s reign, the soul — 
was dead in classicism, and it survived only as a dogma of 


scl sale _ Meanwhile new forces had been let loose. 
1e had sounded the romantic note in Germany, and 


eon Fictor ae was in literature, Géricault and Dateos 
were i in painting. For the abstract type they substituted 
the individual; for ideal beauty the interest of character; 


a for suavity and plastic calm the glow and fury of passion. & 


loka Passion—love and hatred, remorse and despair—became 
mh ‘the life and ‘breath of the movement. Géricault’s “ The 
Raft of Medusa ” had been its bugle note of rallying and 
“defiance: and when he died at the early age of thirty-two, Be 


7 now twenty-three, stepped into his place. In 


; 1822 appeared his “ Dante’s Bark,” at sight of which a 
David exclaimed: “ D’ot vient-il? Je ne connais pas cette aa 
~ touche-la. pee Indeed, “‘ there were thoughts in it which had a 
“not ‘been conceived and expressed in the same manner 
‘since the time of Rubens.” For besides “the dramatic 
expression and composition marked by action” which 
ye i - Delecluze, in characterizing Delacroix’s next picture, 
barre _ “ Massacre of Chios,” declared was a reef on which the 
good style of painting must inevitably be wrecked, it in- 
volved a force and meaningness of color such as the great 
Venetians and Rubens employed. Color was no longer 
_ merely tinting, sparingly and arbitrarily applied—it was 
the language in which the idea was conveyed, a torrent of 
emotional expression. How complete was the gulf be- 
tween this kind of painting and the academical dogma 
that form is everything, may be understood by the re- 
mark of Ingres, as he was one day taking his pupils 
through the Louvre. Entering the Rubens Gallery, he 
said: “ Saluez, messieurs, mais ne regardez pass 


And this was the same gallery that had been to Dela- 
croix the mine from which he drew a wealth of inspira- 
tion. Throughout his life the influence of Rubens clave 
to him. Every morning before his work began he drew 
an arm, a hand, or piece of drapery, after the manner of 
Rubens. “He had formed the habit of taking Rubens © 
when other people were drinking their coffee.’ These 
sketches, great works in little frames, such as the one in 
this collection, have, for the most part, it is said, found 
their way to this country. Yet there is a pathetic differ- 
ence between the master and his disciple; Rubens was a 
being of joyous strength, happy and healthy; Delacroix 
a prey to disease, insulted on all sides, and consumed with 
an internal fire. In Rubens’ work there is a magnificent 
repose; in that of Delacroix a feverish stress of battle. It 
was only by force of will and by careful dieting that his 
frail body sufficed for the enormous work he accomplished 
—two thousand pictures. Delicate from childhood, he 
suffered in later life a complication of diseases, and, like 
Goethe, could work only in a high temperature. He was 
short in stature, but had a leonine head with a mane of 
hair, flashing eyes, and a prickly mustache—‘ the fas- 
cinating ugliness of genius.” 

In 1832 he visited Morocco, in company with an em- 
bassy sent by Louis Philippe to the Sultan Muley Abdur- 
rahman; the first of French artists to fall under the spell of 
the Orient. There he saw and lived amidst the splendor 
of color that hitherto had existed for him only on canvas 
or in his imagination. He had found a new world in 
which his dreams were realized. His coloring became 
more lucid and the dark backgrounds in which he had de- 
lighted were replaced by a bright serenity and golden 


1¢ r the direct ee of line Orient he 
F Ge tives: as the “Entry of the Crusaders 
cae | 


which > es been described as re- a a 


ful, 1 


: Of tlie men of the Orient he writes to a friend: 
Sess ae save a blanket i in which Py walk, 


ee ae “There j is cere more beauti- 
e antique.” And then he turned his attention to 
ic subjects, giving them, as in the ‘‘ Medea,” a modern 
real y of emotion. Biblical subjects, also, so far as they 
- are _ imbued with dramatic and passionate movement, he 
a treated. | In fact, his range was immense; as Silvestre says, 
‘a “3 In the course of forty years he sounded the entire gamut 
of human emotion, his grandiose and awe-inspiring brush 
passing from saints to warriors, from warriors to lovers, 

_ from lovers to tigers, from tigers to flowers.” His critics 
| called him “ the tattooed savage who paints with a drunken 


”? 


broom.” As for himself, he writes: “Every work is 
merely a temporary narcotic, a distraction; and every dis- 
ce traction, as Pascal has said in other words, is only a 
method which man has invented to conceal from himself 
the abyss of his sufferings and misery. In sleepless nights, 
in illness, and in certain moments of solitude, when the 
end of all things discloses itself in utter nakedness, a man 
endowed with imagination must possess a certain amount 
of courage not to meet the phantom half way, not to rush 


to embrace the skeleton.” In 1835, at the instance of his 


friend Thiers, he was commissioned to decorate the in- 
terior of the Chamber of Deputies in the Palais Bourbon, 
and thus commenced a series of mural paintings, the bold- 
est and the most monumental of modern times. They 
include the ‘‘ Triumph of Apollo,” on one of the ceilings 
in the Louvre; a theme from the “ Divina Commedia,” in 
the Library of the Luxembourg; and wall paintings, | 
amongst them ‘The Expulsion of Heliodorus,” in the 
Church of Saint Sulpice. Shortly after the conception of 
these last he died; and, being dead, began straightway to 
live in the popular imagination. While during his life- 
time he seldom got more than four hundred dollars for his 


largest paintings, the sale of the pictures he had left be- 


hind him netted the sum of one million eight hundred 
thousand dollars. 

For the principles of art to which he clung, let himself 
speak. “This famous thing, the Beautiful,’ he once 
wrote, “ must be—every one says so—the final aim of art. 
But if it be the only aim, what then are we to make of 
men like Rubens, Rembrandt, and, in general, all the 
artistic natures of the North, who preferred other quali- 
ties belonging to their art? In any case, there is no 
recipe by means of which one can attain to what is called 
the ideally beautiful. Style depends absolutely and solely 
upon the free and original expression of each master’s 
peculiar qualities. Wherever a painter sets himself to 
follow a conventional mode of expression, he will become 
affected and will lose his own peculiar impress; but where, 
on the contrary, he frankly abandons himself to the im- 
pulse of his own originality, he will ever, whether his name 
be Raphael, Michael Angelo, Rubens, or Rembrandt, be 
securely master of his soul and of his art.” 


2 'The ‘qualities of William M. Hunt as a painter, and the 
personal charm of his character, as well as the fact that he 
‘ was one of the earliest to réturn from study abroad, 
contributed | to. the influence " ‘that he exerted on his 
Po -contemp oraries. cal 

: =) “He was born at Brattleborough, Vermont, in 1824; his 


~ fathe er being a noted judge, and his mother a lady of rare 
mental gifts. At sixteen he went to Harvard, but through 
e il health \ was obliged to leave without graduating. With 
Nos the intention of becoming a sculptor, he entered the Art 
oe: “Academy. of Diisseldorf, but after nine months was at- 
aan tracted to Paris by the fame of the sculptor Pradier. The 
. a latter, however, was absent in Italy, so Hunt entered the 
studio of Couture. Later he studied with Millet at Bar- 
oe, bizon, and became his enthusiastic admirer; buying as 
many of his pictures as he could afford, notably “ The 
Sower” for three hundred francs, and inducing other 
Americans to buy them. Indeed, it is one of the honors 
of Hunt that he introduced the Barbizon pictures to this 
country, and advocated their merit persistently. By this 
~ time his faith in Couture had lessened, and he spent twenty 
years of his life trying to free himself from the influence 
that he had assimilated while in that master’s studio. 
For Hunt had undoubtedly a faculty for assimilation, 
the imitative faculty being stronger in him than the crea- 
tive; and it is one of the criticisms made on his work that 
it reflects so much of the work of others. Granting the 


truth of this, it must be admitted that his high feeling and 
good taste lead him instinctively to appreciate the best; 


yet still it remains a fact that Millet was a painter more 


likely to stir noble impulse than to instruct a student in 
matters of painting, and the help that he might have given 
in that of drawing—his supreme accomplishment—Hunt’s 
predilection tempted him to neglect. He was by tempera- 
ment a colorist, attracted by the mysteries of light and 
shade; and during his later life these problems occupied 
his increasing attention. No doubt the study was encour- 
aged by his close acquaintanceship with John La Farge, 
who had a studio in Newport, where Hunt also settled on 
his return from Europe in 1855. Later he was called to 
Boston to execute a portrait of Chief Justice Shaw, one 
of his strongest works; and it was so enthusiastically re- 
ceived that he transferred his studio to Boston. There 
he became the centre of the artistic set, and gathered 
round him a body of pupils with inevitable detriment to 
his personal work. In 1878 he received a commission to 
paint two mural decorations in the Capitol at Albany, and 


executed “ The Flight of Night ” and “ The Discoverer.” | 


But the time allowed for their execution was only fifty- 
five days; much of the work was done at night, and the 
strain upon him was overwhelming. Those who knew 
him intimately perceived a change in him; yet his sudden 
death the following year at the Isle of Shoals was a shock 
to the large circle of his admirers. Few, indeed, have 
been so personally loved as he was. 


Pe 4 


Manet completed what Courbet had eae Both were 
" reactionists against the pseudo-idealism of the Academy; 
7 both advocates of the first-eyed study of nature, restored 
sep the men of 1830, though without the poetry of that 


from matter. Courbet sought what he assumed to be 
a - the vérité vraie viewing nature through the animal eye 
\ Z = of a robust physique; Manet, on the other hand, was con- 
wae scious that what he saw was only the impression of the 

is oe . object upon his particular temperament, and viewed na- 
ture with a pictorial intention. Courbet thought he was 
representing the actual thing, Manet was bent on giving 
oy pictorial expression to the impression he felt he had re- 
ceived of it. 
He first appeared in 1861. Four years later two of 

his pictures were hung in the Salon des Refusés; and one 
= ortiem, ‘The Scourging of Christ,” had to be protected 
from the sticks and umbrellas of a public that felt out- 
_ raged by what they termed its ugliness and sacrilege. In 
1870 he exhibited from twenty to thirty pictures in his 
studio, and people began to say, “ Manet is bold,” with 


with. In the following year an exhibition was held at 
Nadar’s of work by him and others who had been attracted 


a vere ‘j to his point of view, and the critic, Claretie, summed up 
: -_— , 
te ce + HF, his remarks by styling it the “ Salon des Impressionistes.”’ 


They differed from one another much as mind 


an inkling that he was after all a painter to be reckoned © 


The name stuck, and Manet was regarded.as le maitre 
impressioniste. 

He was born in 1833, in the Rue Bonaparte, exactly 
opposite the Ecole des Beaux Arts. At sixteen he en- 
tered the navy and made a trip to Rio de Janeiro. Upon 
his return he determined to devote himself to art, and 
entered the studio of Couture, remaining with the master 
of ‘The Decadent Romans” nearly six years. Then he 
travelled extensively, and began to form his painting upon 
the work of the old masters. His first picture, “ The 
Child with the Cherries,” painted in 1859, reveals the in- 
fluence of Brouwer, while the double portrait of his 
parents, which received an honorable mention at the 
Salon in 1860, was painted in the old Bolognese style, 
while “ The Nymphs Surprised,” exhibited the following 
year, was a “medley of reminiscences from Jordaens, 
Tintoretto, and Delacroix.” Then he discovered Velas- 
quez, and began to find himself. 

At the beginning of the sixties France came under the 
influence of the great Spaniard’s serious feeling for color, 
and Manet was his first enthusiastic pupil. Burger praised 
Velasquez as the “ peintre le plus peintre qui fit jamais,” 
and it has been remarked that, as far as concerns the nine- 
teenth century, the same may be said of Manet, whose 
influence, directly and indirectly, has penetrated modern 
painting. Henceforth his point of view became more and 
more individual and more and more essentially and ex- 
clusively pictorial. He cares nothing for subject, except in 
so far as it may be made contributory to the pictorial idea 
he has in mind. He painted, for example, a nude woman 
sitting on the grass in company with two gentlemen in 
every-day costume, and shocked a public who forgot that 


st Again, he 
nts “ The aan at the Tomb of Christ,’ ” largely as a 
tee f pallid limbs and white drapery ; for he has im- 
he coloring of Velasquez, the delicate grays, the 


whites and blacks and cool rose-colors, and imparts to 
o: each an intrinsic beauty of tone and combines them with 
itively discriminated tone-values. The secret of this 


‘elasquez’ s also—the rendering of the pervasive atmos- 
phere that in nature brings all the colors into harmony. 
on enyelops. the objects and figures in ambient atmos- 
wes "phere that fills in the spaces of his picture and unites its 
: planes, and no longer models with shadows but with light, 
the actual light of out of doors. 
<r In 1870 the outbreak of war interrupted his work, and 
he joined the Artists’ Company of Volunteers, becoming 
ae al lieutenant and having Meissonier as his colonel. Upon 
a ithe return of peace he resumed his art, and henceforth 
e a ‘e the great problem for him was the rendering of light and 
atmosphere. The pictures in which he was entirely Manet 
at belong to this later period. He was a man of the world, 
and with his wife, the daughter of an eminent Dutch 
musician, moved in the best society of Paris; a wit, an 
elegant, a modern, jusqu’au bout des ongles. 

_ In 1880 he received, through the exertion of his friend 
fhatbine Proust, a medal of the second class, the only one 
awarded to him. The dealer Duret began to buy his pic- 
tures; Durand-Ruel followed suit; and so did M. Faure, 
the opera singer, who owns some five and thirty examples. 
But Manet did not live long to enjoy this recognition; 
on April 30, 1883, he died from blood polsaning; following 
upon the amputation of a leg. 


But his influence has survived. Fiat Lux was his watch- 
word, and the emancipation from academic tradition 
which the landscape painters had secured, he secured for 
the painters of the figure. To the truth of form that the 
realists had attained he added the truth of color, as affected 
by the power of light. This union does not embrace the 
whole of art, but pretty nearly all the craftsmanship of 
painting. It is as a painter that he is to be estimated and 
has made his influence felt. The influence of Manet, both 
upon the painter’s point of view and the painter’s method 
of expression, remains and will remain. Manet manet et 
manebit. 


HOMER D. MARTIN 


1836-1897 


The bare statement of the life of Homer Martin, the 
most impressive poet-painter among American landscap- 
ists, can be given in a few words. He was born in Albany, 
and studied painting under William Hart; lived and 
painted for a while in Normandy; returned to America, 
spending his summers in the Adirondacks and the winters 
in New York; and towards the end of his life moved out 
West, where he died. The bigger story of his life is re- 
corded in his pictures. . | 

Notwithstanding his early lessons, he was essentially his 
own teacher, being one of the first landscape painters to 
realize by intuition that the character and spirit of the 
scene was of more value than the mere summary of its 


% e ; ae . . . . . . 
component details. His aim was to reveal in his pictures 


yy ap aa imagination was not one to be interested in trifles. 
He was a man of intellectual eminence; of rich intellect, 


_ ‘tempered with tenderness; and the qualities in nature that 
attracted him were the elemental ones. If he painted the 
twilight hour, it was with the feeling that this particular 
twilight was but the repetition of a phenomenon as old 

e as time, and with a sense of the age-worn strength and 
Bre d 
tet vast: fluid ocean of light, connecting this individual frag- 


stability of the earth and of the immensity of the sky, a 


ment of circumstance with the big order of the universe. 
_ If he painted a desolate scene, as in the “ Sand Dunes,” 
he gave it something of primeval isolation; while a bright 
and happy subject, such as that of the “ View on the 
F eSeine,” in the Metropolitan Museum, stirs the imagina- 
__ tion to feel happiness to be the product of aspiration. His 
last picture was “ Adirondack Scenery,” painted in the 
West under every disadvantage of failing health. But he 
had so thoroughly absorbed the character and beauty of 
the scene that even at a distance he could give it out of 
himself on to the canvas. 
ea This was characteristic of his way of studying nature. 
Bo ei A brother artist tells how he called upon him after he had 
i Se a been away for five months in the country. ‘‘ Well, Mar- 


in,” quietly replied the artist. 


a ae 
We ioe tin,” he said, “you have got, doubtless, a lot of material 
on “et for pictures; where are your studies?” ‘ There ’—the 
| 2 ae painter pointed to a little study on the wall made in 
bier? . early spring. “In the face of nature,” exclaimed his as- 
eae: tonished friend, ‘‘ for five months, and one sketch! What 
ie ae in the world have you been doing?” “Letting it soak 


the impression which nature made on his imagination; 


The quality of Martin’s mind was broad as well as deep. 
He was a man of infinite jest as well as a thinker, and as 
gentle as he was virile. Those who knew him best loved 
him most, and feel that the strength and beauty of his 
intellect and imagination are most completely mirrored in 
his pictures. sie 


GEORGES MICHEL 


1763-1848 


A pioneer without honor, born before his time, and 
living to see his theories justified, but the credit of them 
enjoyed by younger and greater men, Georges Michel 
is at once a figure and a nonentity in French landscape art. 
The insipidities of Van Loo, Boucher, and Fragonard had 
disgusted thinking men, and while Vien and his great 
pupil, David, sought reform in the classic manner, Michel 
reverted to the sincerity and simplicity of the Dutch land- 
scapists, Van Goyen, Hobbema, and Ruisdael. But the 
spirit of the times, notwithstanding talk of the rights of 
man and a return to nature of Rousseau’s dream, was as 
far from nature as could be. The need of resting on some- 
thing after the upheaval of the Revolution, and the pre- 
dominating influence of David, drew all attention toward 
the classic, and Michel was ignored. Yet he had antici- 
pated the great revival of the men of 1830, and in a man- 
ner also the tendencies of the Romanticists. But when 
these swam into favor, they and the stream of popularity 


: bHey was oa old and broken in spirit, and 
Cae sm 


t e you : er men were in every way more brilliant and 
ac omplished ; and even such posthumous recognition as 


‘ he has obtained y was tardy and none too cordial. 
Peek his: pictures have an inherent force that “ enables 
them to hold their own upon a wall against the good work 
of far greater men.” For it is a force of personality, the — ae 
‘in y of a deep and strong character forced back upon | in 
! of strong yearnings baffled by an insufficiency of 

ss and | pent within themselves; for his technical 

res ources were limited, his drawing uncertain, his handling 

i ae although his color, within its narrow range of 

| gaiand russet browns and greens, is individual and full sg | 3 
of “suggestion. His favorite subject was the plain of 
Montmartre, with its receding distance and large skies, 
_ where sun and shadow, storm and fair weather equally 
- exhibited their larger aspects. These he recorded with 
a bigness and depth of feeling and a sympathy akin to 


| us eee nation that lifts his work to the plane of poetry. 


JEAN FRANCOIS MILLET 
ee 1814-1875 


While the artistic atmosphere was torn with the cries 
of partisans, Millet had ears only for the cry of the 
soil. The peasant of Gruchy is the epic painter of the 
nineteenth century’s newly discovered conception of the 
dignity of work. Nor does he blink the inherent curse of 


7. * ri = 
bai Ae ibd: WR Wee 


it—the sweat and pain of labor; the distortion of body and 
premature age; the strait conditions and unhonored death 
—but out of the completeness with which the life con- 
forms to its environments he discovers its dignity. Nar- 
row in his sympathies, for he ignored the lives of other - 
toilers not connected with the soil, his concentration upon 
the chosen theme is so intense, sincere, and simple, that 
his pictures are akin to the amplitude and typical com- 
pleteness of Greek art and to the stupendous ethical sig- 
nificance of Michael Angelo’s. Trivialities are disre- 
garded; there is scarcely even any detail of secondary im- 
portance in his pictures, everything being so completely 
merged in the one single motive. And the latter is em- 
bodied in such terse and vigorous simplicity, with such 
pregnancy of meaning and grand, serene harmoniousness, 
that in his best pictures one feels the truth to have been 
stated once and for all—to be, in its way, a classic. 

Millet was born in 1814, in the village of Gruchy, near 
Cherbourg, and from the age of fourteen to that of 
eighteen worked on his father’s land. But he had always 
a taste for drawing, and at last his father consulted a 
M. Mouchel, in Cherbourg, as to whether he had talent 
enough to gain his bread by painting. Mouchel’s reply 
was favorable, and he and another painter of Cherbourg 
named Langlois, commenced to teach the young man, 
who was now twenty. The studies, however, were cut 
short two months later by the death of Millet’s father, 
and it was only after an interruption of three years that a 
subsidy from the community of Cherbourg, collected by 
Langlois, and the savings of his family, permitted him to 
start for Paris. Herculean in frame, uncouth in manner, 
?homme des bois, as his fellow-students called him, the 


i peasant entered the studio of Delaroche. But the 


of the ‘master made no appeal to him, seeming 
aS 


oo hee vignettes, theatrical effects without any real 


; and Delaroche, after having been first of all 


inte din his new pupil, lost patience with him. He 
le ft the studio within the year. Then followed eleven 
ma ‘iy ears: of penurious living and misplaced effort. He tried — 
> o “paint in the style of Boucher and Fragonard, which 
drew from. Diaz the criticism: “ Your women bathing 
re come from the cowhouse.” He turned out copies at 
twenty francs, and portraits at five, and painted signs for 
- ta erns and booths. He had married and, his wife dying 
| after three years, remarried. Then, in 1848, he exhibited 
« ‘The Winnower,” a characteristically peasant picture. It 
sold for five hundred francs. 
This was the turning-point of Millet’s career. His 
ee friend Jacque proposed that they both should migrate to 
be Barbizon. With their wives and five children they reached 
i ~ Ganne’ s Inn, just as the dinner hour had assembled twenty 
a PF persons at the table—artists with their families. Diaz did 
the honors and invited them to smoke the pipe of peace 
which hung above the door in readiness for newcomers. 
As usual, a jury was appointed, to judge from the ascend- 
ing rings of smoke whether the new painters were to be 
2 : _ reckoned among the Classicists or Colorists. Jacque was 
- declared to be a Colorist. Difference of opinion being 
held concerning Millet, he exclaimed: “ Eh bien, si vous 
étes embarrassés, placez-moi dans la mienne.” “It is a 
good retort,” cried Diaz. “The fellow looks powerful 
enough to found a school that will bury us all.” 

Millet was thirty-five when he settled in Barbizon and 
picked up again the broken thread of his youth, resum- 


a 


ing once more his contact with the soil and with the 


laborers in the fields. Henceforth he gave himself up 
unreservedly to painting what he knew, regardless of 
criticism or contempt. At first he boarded with a peasant, — 
and lived with his family in a tiny room where wheat was 
stored. Later he rented a little house at a hundred and 
sixty francs a year. In winter he sat in a work-room 
without a fire, in thick straw shoes, and with an old horse-- 
cloth about his shoulders. Under such conditions was 
“The Sower”’ painted. Meanwhile he was often in dire” 
straits. Rousseau and Diaz helped him with small sums. 
“T have received the hundred francs,” he writes to Sensier, 
“and they came just at the right time; neither my wife 
nor I had tasted food for four and twenty hours. It is 
a blessing that the little ones, at any rate, have not been 
in want.” It was only from the middle of the fifties that 
he began to sell, at the rate of from two hundred and fifty 
to three hundred francs a picture. Even in 1859 his 
“ Death and the Woodcutter ” was rejected at the Salon. 
Rousseau was the first to offer him a large sum, buying 
his “‘ Woodcutter ” for four thousand francs, under the 
pretence that an American was the purchaser. Dupré 
helped him to dispose of “ The Gleaners”’ for two thou- 
sand francs. At length, in 1863, he was commissioned 
to paint four decorative panels of the “ Seasons” for the 
dining-room of the architect Feydau. They are his weak- 
est work, but established his reputation. He was able to 
buy a little house in Barbizon, and henceforth had no 
financial cares. At the Exposition of 1867 he received 
the Grand Prix, and in the Salon of 1869 was a member 
of the Hanging Committee. He lived to see his ““ Woman 
with the Lamp,” for which he had received a hundred and 


went a about Eeween like a peasant, in an old red 
wooden shoes, and a soe esaren straw hat. 


eh 


ea Ai iality is particularly apparent in his 
etchings, pastels, and lithographs. They are 
aah studies, but pictures in ores = = 


3 s - fullest oo of the salient truth. And the decisive 
lines which characterize a movement are so rhythmic and 
: c harmonious that he attains to an altitude of style. 
Even as a child he had received a good education from 
an uncle who was an ecclesiastic, and had learned enough 
Latin to read the Georgics of Virgil in the original text. 
He knew them almost by heart, and cited them continu- 
ously in his letters. Shakespeare filled him with admira- 
tion, and Theocritus and Burns were his favorite poets. 
_ He was a constant reader, and more cultivated than most 
painters ; a philosopher and a scholar. 

In January, 1875, he was stricken with fever, and ined 
at the age of sixty. His grave is near Rousseau’s at 
Chailly, and the sculptor Chapu has wrought their two 
heads side by side in bronze on the stone at Barbizon. 


a 
7 


ea a eee ae Nee 


CLAUDE MONET 


All his life intolerant of restraint, Monet in his art has 
been rigidly self-disciplined. As a boy he skipped school 
on fine days, and as a young man found Gleyre’s studio 
impossible for him; was acquainted with the pictures of 
the Louvre, but never tried to draw them, and in every way 
sought to emancipate himself from the traditions of the 
old masters and the influence of contemporaries. On the 
other hand, from the day that Boudin directed his atten- 
tion to nature he never deviated from the study of it. And 
his study of it has been most exacting; for in the pursuit 
of nature’s fugitive qualities of light, air, and movement, 
he has imposed upon himself a minute examination of 
these qualities as they present themselves during some 
brief portion of the day. He never yields to the pleasant- 
ness of generalizing or to the enthusiasm which might 
tempt him to linger over a canvas beyond the limit of the 
hour it represents. As soon as the slightest change in 
the conditions arises, he betakes himself to another can- 
vas, having sometimes as many as ten in process of execu- 
tion at the same time. His work being based entirely on 
analysis, without any help from temperament, and on anal- 
ysis of the most searching kind, only a man of his great 
physical strength could possibly support the strain. Nor 
are his pictures accomplished quickly, as some suppose. 
At the first sitting he covers his canvas with a complete 
sketch, summarizing the effects that he is studying; but 
on subsequent days he works deliberately; thinking out 
the value of each stroke, juxtaposing and superimposing 
(seldom mixing) the virgin pigments; building up a solid 


840. But five years later his family moved to Havre, 
Eas where “his boyhood was spent. His earliest efforts in 
Ba drawing were caricature portraits, for which, by the time ~ 
- that he was fifteen, he began to find purchasers at prices 


ranging La ten to twenty francs. He was already 
ier famous,” and, as he himself says, “nearly choked with 
vanity and self-satisfaction. Still there was a shadow in 
al Il this glory. Often in the same show-window I beheld, 
hung over my own productions, marines that I, like most 
i my fellow-citizens, thought disgusting. And at heart 
m3 was much vexed to endure this contact, and never ceased 
hte abuse the idiot who, thinking he was an artist, had the 
self-confidence to sign them—this idiot was Boudin.” 

é : The dealer urged Monet to meet Boudin, but he resisted, 
. _ until a chance meeting in the store brought him face to 
face with the man who was to change the whole tenor of 
his life. Boudin praised the caricatures, but hoped that 
the young man would not rest satisfied with such work, 
and urged him to study nature. It is curious, in the light 
of Monet’s future, that what repelled him then in Boudin’s 
pictures was their fidelity to nature; they had nothing 
artistic, he thought, and their fidelity struck him as more 
than suspicious. So while he was drawn to Boudin per- 
sonally, he rejected over and over again his invitation 
to accompany him sketching, until the older man’s per- 
sistent kindness at last prevailed. “I gave in finally,” 
he says, “and Boudin, with untiring kindness, undertook 
my education. My eyes at last were opened, and I really 
understood nature and learned at the same time to love 


it. I analyzed it in its forms with a pencil and studied it 


> 


in its colorations.” He was now resolved to become a 
painter ; and, having saved two thousand francs, started for 
Paris with a letter of introduction to Troyon. The latter 
recommended him to enter the studio of Couture, which 
he declined to do, and at this juncture met Pissarro, who 
was then tranquilly working in Corot’s style. Monet fol- 
lowed his example; but during his stay in Paris, which 
lasted four years, he made frequent visits to Havre, and 


was really governed by the advice of Boudin, “ although 


inclined,” as he says, “ to see nature more broadly.” 

He had now reached his twentieth year, the period for 
conscription, which his parents hoped might be utilized 
to get him back to commercial life. He refused, however, 
all compromise; and, drawing an unlucky number, man- 
aged to get drafted to Algeria, where for two years he 
thoroughly enjoyed himself, collecting those impressions 
of light and color that were to be the germ of his future 
researches. Then he was invalided home; and his father, 
yielding at last to his persistence, bought him out of the 
army, on condition that he put himself under the discipline 
of some well-known master. Upon the advice of Toul- 
mouche, who had married one of his cousins, he entered 


the studio of Father Gleyre. After he had been there a © 


week the master came round to criticise, and found fault 
with the realism of his study from the living model: “I 
want you to realize, young man, that when one executes a 
figure one should always think of the antique. Nature, 
my friend, is all right as an element of study, but it offers 
no interest. Style, you see, style is everything.” Monet 
waited for a week or two, so as not to exasperate his 
family, and then quitted the studio; inducing his fellow- 


4453 
| ie Bere 
— 
4 students, Renoir and Sisley, to accompany him. Some 
4 before, he had met Jongkind in the country, and now 
_ shim equ in inal and this Sree completed the 


ulating the latter, much to his chagrin. This was 
ets ane = pee at the Salon. oe 1867 his 


— of es fies: In 1869 he met Manet, and became 
one of the group of younger men who gathered round 
a yea: in a café at Batignolles. There he associated also 
~ “e with Mibeons Fantin-Latour, Sisley, Renoir, Cezanne, 
Tate Whistler, Zola, and others, who formed what the mem- 
sl bers called “I’Ecole des Batignolles.” When war was 
ae declared with Germany, he had just married, and took his 
haat ©! wife to London, where he found Bonvin and Pissarro. 
He was in much distress until Daubigny, who was then 

-- painting scenes on the Thames, introduced him to Du- 
rand-Ruel. The latter began to take his pictures, and for 

. fifteen years was almost the only purchaser of his work, 
ee. and that of Pissarro, Renoir, and Sisley. The public, 
however, was still shy of buying their pictures, and Du- 
rand-Ruel was compelled to restrict his orders. Then 
Petit and Boussod took their work, and the public, seeing 
it in the hands of other dealers, grew more confident and 
began to buy. “ To-day,” as Monet says, ‘‘ every one ap- 
preciates us in some degree.” | | 
It is very true. Some painters Ketuie cous directly in- 


a i . a & he K ep 


fluenced by them; and there are very few who have not — 


been affected indirectly; while the public, though it may © 


still jibe at out-and-out impressionism, has learned more 


and more to look in other men’s work for the qualities — 


to which the Impressionists have given currency. More- 
over, the number is increasing of those who find this new 


gospel of landscape painting admirably satisfying. In- 


stead of introducing them to a vision of nature filtered 
through some painter’s more or less poetical tempera- 
ment, it brings them face to face with nature herself in 
her subtlest manifestations of light and air and move- 
ment, and leaves them as in the presence of nature to ex- 
tract for themselves the poetry and personal feeling. The 
very objectivity of this so-called impressionism is its most 
winning feature. It opens a window through which we 
get the consciousness, not of a picture, but of nature 
herself. 


ADOLPHE MONTICELLI 
1824-1886 


In his early period Monticelli showed a very strict ob- 


servation of nature; later he stands forth as a magician © 


of color, with a brain that transferred everything into 
a brilliant fantasy of colors—colors that have the wild 
melody and heedless luxuriousness of gipsy music. 

He was born October 24, 1824, at Marseilles, whither 
his family had migrated from Italy. After passing 
through the art schools of that city, he betook himself to 


Paris in the middle of the forties, and, through his friend- 


ship with Diaz, was brought into connection with picture 
dealers and purchasers. Having means, he built himself 
a handsome studio, and affected the manners of an old 
Venetian, dressing in velvet costumes and wearing a large 
gray Rubens hat. Napoleon III. bought pictures of him, 
and towards the end of the second empire he was on the 
road to fame. Then came the crash of 1870. He re- 
turned to Marseilles, and there remained until his death 
in 1886, resisting all attempts of his friends to lure him 
back to Paris, and troubled with no ambition or desire 
of fame. “ Of an evening he could be seen walking with a 
dignified gait through the streets of the city, carrying in 
each hand a little wooden panel covered with colors, which 
he disposed of to a dealer for a small sum. He lived in 
the simplest manner, in a single room, with a bed, an 
easel, and two chairs, the only thing he valued being a red 
silk curtain over the window, which bathed the room in 
a purple light.” His conversation was studded with 
phrases that he invented for his own personal enjoyment, 
the unintelligibility of which confirmed his neighbors in 
the belief that he was mad; a theory supported by his own 
belief that he had had a previous existence at Venice in 
the time of Titian. In appearance he is said to have been 


a handsome old man, walking with a large, impressive 


stride, and having a grave, majestic countenance, thick 
white hair, and a long beard which fell deep upon his 
chest. 

“Tn all his work,” says Muther, “ Monticelli appears 
as an ‘artist incomplet.’ The majority of the figures 
which give animation to his scenes are clumsily drawn; 
they are not planted well upon their feet, and move auto- 


matically, like awkward marionettes. But the suggestive 
power of his painting is very great. Everywhere there 
are swelling chords of color, which move the spirit before 
the theme of the picture has been recognized.” For in his 
extravagantly fantastic way he was aiming at the purely 
abstract pictorial quality for which Whistler strove, only 
with a juxtaposition of primary colors instead of the sub- 


‘tler harmonies of their complementaries. But, as with 


Whistler’s impressionistic work, his pictures have aban- 
doned form for the purely pictorial quality of tone. His 
figures lose themselves in a chaotic composition, and re- 
appear as notes in a bewitching harmony of color. 


“AUGUSTE RENOIR 


Renoir early determined to become a painter, and, as his 
parents were not rich, he worked in a porcelain factory in 
his native town of Limoges, painted pictures in the cafés, 
and sold little subjects to the stores, until he had gained 
sufficient to enable him to study in Paris. Arriving there 
in 1860, at the age of nineteen, he entered the studio of 
Gleyre, having Sisley and Bazille as fellow-pupils, and re- 
maining for four years, until, at Monet’s prompting, they 
all abandoned it. During this time he was seen at the 
Salon in a portrait of Sisley’s father, which procured him 
several other commissions. He was working then in an 
ultra-romantic vein, scoring his first success at the Salon 
with a picture entitled “‘ Esmeralda.” The woman is danc- 
ing at night in the Place de Gréve; there is a fire in the 


as This was ii last of his genre pictures. He 
spat th impatience the closing of the Salon to scrape 
“xaeiage pet sais set salsa to make landscapes aden 


Then _misery read ee ihctiires or sketches, brown with 
ould sell, but not his serious studies. Happily, 
Si pecans briny; thanks to friends. sai ae 


ay Gleyre a 1864, lie had been the intimate of Monet, and the 
“two friends, under each other’s inspiration, made rapid 
at progress. In 1868 he exhibited at the Salon “The 
~ Woman i in White,” which showed a tendency towards his 
ala Ry ew style of painting; timid enough, yet at the period 
pe “sufficient to arouse hostility and to secure his exclusion 
- from the Salon until 1880, when his “ Portrait of Madame 
Charpentier ” was accepted. But long before this he had 
ceased to concern himself with official honors. One of 
the little group that circled round Manet at the Café Guer- 
bois, on the Avenue de Clichy, he joined in the exhibition 
at Nadar’s in 1871, which stamped on “ Ecole des Bati- 
gnolles,” as they called themselves, the outside title of Im- 
pressionists. In 1874 Monet, Degas, Pissarro, Sisley, and 
himself held the first of the separate exhibitions, and their 
work received the support of M. Durand-Ruel. The latter 
had been introduced in London to Monet and Pissarro 
four years earlier by Daubigny, and now staked his reputa- 
tion and money upon the new men. . 


As Durand-Ruel had bought the Barbizon pictures, he 
now bought those of the Impressionists, and published an 
album of three hundred etchings, in which, side by side 
with the celebrated works of Rousseau, Cordt Dupre, 
Troyon, etc., figured reproductions of pictures by Manet, 
Degas, Monet, Renoir, Pissarro, Puvis de Chavannes, and 
Sisley. Yet, at the very start of this new period of recog- 
nition, Renoir had to share with Monet and Sisley a severe 
blow at the sale of their pictures at the Hotel Drouot, in — 
1875. However, it had its compensations, for the violent 
attacks of the press, the public, and the painters stimu- 
lated the appearance of defenders, whose numbers have 
since been continually increasing. 

Among the pictures of the Impressionists, Renoir’s are 
conspicuous for their elegant luxuriousness. Whether 
painting a landscape or a figure, he floods it with sun- 
shine, and paints its soft, sensuous caress on foliage, water, 
or the human flesh; and always with such lightness of feel- 
ing. Though he coaxes from his subject its ripest tints, 


’ the colors have the quality of bloom upon fruit—silky or 


velvety, glowing with manifestation of healthy life. The 
animation of his sunlight is always tender as well as joyous. 
It is the smile upon the warm, mobile face of nature that 
he has painted in the “ Bordighiera” of this collection; 
and it is the exquisitely engaging tenderness of mirth 
that he gives to his pictures of young girls and children. 
In these he renders with fascinating skill the differing soft- 
ness of flesh and hair, the fragrant radiance of flesh, and 
the quiver of delicate expression. | 


1812-1867 


“Like a voice crying in the wilderness—the parched, 
iss d pai prsteriess of ‘aimee landscape—the influ- 


i. = f ape. ; | The times were ripe for cae and his na- 
_ ‘ture study, with its search for air, light, color, and move- 
“mer nt, gave the impetus and direction. France bestowed 
% ‘on him a gold medal, but in his own England he was ig- 
= ~ nored and died in poverty, bequeathing a similar legacy 
; of neglect to the brave, humble souls in France who dared 
te follow him. | | . 
eri Of these, Rousseau grew to be the sticnoWhedeed leaded 
i. The son of a tailor, who lived in the Rue Neuve-Saint 
Nae - Eustache, No. 14 au quatriéme, he is said as a boy to have 
shown a special aptitude for mathematics. But his heart 
must have been elsewhere, for Biirger-Thoré, writing a 
_ dedicatory letter to his exhibition of 1844, says: “ Do you 


our attics in the Rue de Taitbout and let our feet dangle 
at the edge of the roof, contemplating the chaos of houses 
and chimneys which you, with a twinkle in your eye, com- 
pared to mountains, trees, and outlines of the earth? You 
were not able to go to the Alps, into the cheerful country, 
and so you created landscapes for yourself out of these 
horrible skeletons of walls. Do you still recall the tree 
in Rothschild’s garden which we caught sight of between 
two roofs? It was the one green thing that we could see; 


still recall the years when we sat on the window ledge of _ 


ee a 


= |. See 


é 
re 
rs 


every fresh shoot of the little poplar wakened our interest 
in spring, and in autumn we counted the fallen leaves.” 
About this time Rousseau must have been in the studio 
of the classicist Lethiére; later he competed for the Prix 
de Rome, but his “ historical landscape” was fortunately 
_ found wanting. Then he took his paint boxes and wan- 
dered over to Montmartre, the scene of Michel’s striving 
after nature. His first little picture, “The Telegraph 
Tower,” was painted in 1826. In the Salon of 1831 he 
appeared, in company with the others who were shortly 
to foregather at Barbizon. His first excursion to Fon- 
tainebleau was in 1833, and the following year he painted 
his first masterpiece, ‘Cotes de Grandville.’ It was 
awarded a medal of the third class; but this concession to 
genius was followed by many years of rejection from the 
Salon. For Rousseau, as the master of the new brother- 
hood, the most dangerous because the least to be contro- 
verted, fared worse than the others at the hands of official- 
dom, and, by consequence, in popular estimation. It is 
the old story—that of mediocrity getting even with a 
genius, that cannot be ignored, by rewarding its followers 
instead. So Troyon, Dupré, and Diaz were admitted to 
the Legion of Honor before Rousseau. It is true they 
were older men, but, in the estimation of the sturdy Diaz 
at least, that should not have counted, for when, at the 
banquet given in his honor, he rose upon his wooden leg 
to respond to the courtesies, his sentiment was: “ Here’s 
to our master who has been forgotten!” Officialdom 
had to admit him the following year, but never conferred 
the higher rank of Officer of the Legion, though his posi- 
tion as chief of a section of the jury at the Universal Ex- 
position of 1867 warranted it—almost, in fact, demanded 


Sap 
i. 


ee 


ae 
= ‘How ae ae omission hurt him, may be inferred 


| 138 om a paper discovered after his ies on which he had 


e time ee Gisty his life had been saddened © pain 
. and illness. He had married a poor, unfortunate creature, 
a wild child of the forest, the only female being he had 
found time to love in his life of toil, and after a few years 
¢ ie went mad. He was urged to put her in confinement, 
fs. but saw his duty otherwise, keeping her and tending her 
a until his own brain became affected: As he lay dying 
his’ mad wife danced and sang and the parrot screamed. 
‘He was laid to rest in the village churchyard at Chailly, 
ch “near Barbizon, in a spot that looked out upon the forest; 

and Millet set over his grave a simple cross upon an un- 
ae i hewn bidek of sandstone, and a tablet with the AEERG, 

“ Théodore Rousseau, Peintre.” 

pe One of two attitudes of mind distinguishes a landscape 
ms painter’s view of nature—he either sees in her, as Corot 
did, a response to his own emotions, and selects such sub- 
ject and mood as will correspond with his own mood; or he 


studied, and portrayed. The latter was Rousseau’s way. 
In his art he was a naturalist; in his mental attitude he 
became a pantheist. Nature was to him an actual, sen- 


dependent of the moods of man, and only related to man 
as all the parts of the universe are related to one another 
in various degrees of subordination. Dispassionately 
analytical, his purpose was to possess himself of truth— 
the truth of the tree, its sap and structure, its firm grip 
within the strong-ribbed earth, the play of its leaves in 


looks at her objectively, as worthy of herself to be loved, 


tient creature, with anatomy, expression, and breath, in- 


it 


S.A 
(Sie 
7 ‘ a ia 


light and air; and so with every natural form. He would 
discover not only the fact of its growth and character, but 
the fact also of its relation to its surroundings. Except 
Rembrandt, no one has ever had such a profound knowl- 
edge of nature’s forms. For a time, in his middle period, 
this passion for form, which amounted to a kind of nature- 
religion, led him to feel that all natural features, even the 
most insignificant, were important, and for a while his pic- 
tures were crowded with detail and lost the balanced dig- 
nity of his best works. 

In these, nature is interpreted with a grandeur of con- 
ception. Her fundamental, basic, inevitable qualities are 
dwelt upon; her power and permanence, bulk and volume; 
her ceaseless compliance with the laws of the universe; 
her passionless moods and separate existence outside of 
man. As Turgenief wrote: ‘‘ The last of thy brothers 
might vanish off the face of the earth and not a needle of 
the pine trees would tremble.” Completely objective as 
the conception is, it attains to poetry, reaching by its 
searching logic to the big, insoluble mystery above, be- 
yond, and within this elaboration of cause and effect. Its 
truth is beauty; and while there is no infusion of man’s 
sentiment, either great or small, there becomes revealed 
the underlying harmony of matter and matter’s laws. 


ALBERT P, RYDER 


Through the teaching of his first master, William E. 
Marshall, who had been a pupil of Couture, Albert P. 
Ryder is supposed to have been influenced by the latter. 


a aati little “ Moonlight ” in this collection. “Hej iS 
best where incident or detail scarcely or only vaguely 
en nters into his conception, as in the “ Moonlight ” already 
In this the theme is immensity, solitude, the 


_, isi Ne) 


; ery ¢ of f moonlight anda at of weirdness, at the same 


ALFRED SISLEY : 


1840-1899 


Though of English origin, Alfred Sisley was born in 
Paris, and the greater part of his life was spent in France, 
the last twenty years at Morét. The story of his art life is 
interwoven with that of the other Impressionists. He is 
with Renoir in the studio of Gleyre until Monet induces 
them to leave it; he mixes with the other kindred spirits 


at the Café Guerbois in Batignolles; is with Monet in Lon- 
don during 1870, and is then introduced by Daubigny to 
M. Durand-Ruel. In 1874 he is one of the group organiz- 
ing their first separate exhibition, receiving his share of the 
abuse so lavishly bestowed upon this band of new painters. 


In the latter part of his career he was estranged from 


Monet, having an ungrounded suspicion that the latter 
had prejudiced his reputation and had thus unfairly 
eclipsed him in people’s estimation, and his pictures of this 
period suffer from his mental worriment. 

After leaving Gleyre’s studio he worked at Marlotte, and 
later at Hampton Court, on the Thames, and in London; 
but the region of his warmest regard was on the outskirts 
of Fontainebleau, along the banks of the Seine and its 
tributary, the Loing, in the little towns of Morét and Saint 
Mammés. At the Salon he exhibited only twice, but was 
an associate of the Champ de Mars. 

The picture in this collection, though an early one, is 
characteristic. It is one of many snow scenes in which 
he has expressed the silence and immobility of winter with 
extraordinary realism. It exhibits, also, the quiet, un- 
exaggerated way in which nature appealed to him. The 
picture is one of indefinable sadness, rather than of deep 
intensity of feeling. The same gentle view appears in 
his spring pictures, fledged with tenderest green, melting 
in quiet atmosphere. Even in the scenes of summer, the 
light is never riotous or even glowing, but soft and lam- 
bent. His autumns have the gentle melancholy of ap- 
proaching winter. Nor are these qualities the result of 
a merely dreamy, meditative spirit. He was a keen an- 
alyst, very sensitive by nature, and delighting most in the 
study of the underlying subtleties of normal nature. 


Tiziano > Vecelli was born about 1477, at Pieve di Ca- 
si re, a district of the Southern Tyrol, then belonging to 
ys tl e Republic of Venice. He was the son of Gregorio dei 
: Conti Vecellio | by his wife Lucia, the father being de- 

- scended from an ancient and honorable family of the name 
$f ~ of Guecello (or Vecelli) established in the valley of Cadore. 
“ed the age of nine, according to Dolce * in the “ Dia- 
eo o della Pittura,” or of ten, according to Tizianello’s { 
x : Anonimo,” Titian was taken to Venice to study paint- 
ing. Dolce says that Zuccato, the mosaic worker, was 
on first master; that he next passed into the studio of 
eenite Bellini, and thence into that of Giovanni Bellini 
(which Morelli questions), and finally became the pupil 
and partner of Giorgione. Although the last named was 
__ the same age as Titian, his genius had ripened earlier, and 
his influence was dominant in shaping the art of Venice. 
Beginning with the example of Giovanni Bellini, he infused 
into art the mystery and complexity of life, and through 
| the force of color expressed its fulness of sensuous yearn- 
a ‘ing, mingled with spiritual aspiration. Titian carried 
the style to its highest pitch of material splendor, the 
vigor of his mountain nature counteracting the marked 
-__ sensuousness of his art, except in his later interpretations 


* Ludovico Dolce, a friend of Titian’s. 

{ Tizianello, Titian’s cousin, thrice removed, dedicated in 1622 to 
the Countess of Arundel an anonymous life of the master known as 
Tizianello’s ‘‘ Anonimo.” 


a. 
7 


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of female beauty, and giving to his representations of hu- 
manity—especially to his portraits of men—a dignity that 
has never been surpassed. His paintings are an epitome 
of the glowing harmonies of Venice and of the pride and 
energy of her people. 

The death of Giorgione in 1511 marks the beginning 
of the end of Titian’s Giorgionesque period, the apogee 
of which was reached in the so-called “ Sacred and Pro- 
fane Love ” of the Borghese Gallery, which Herr Wickhoff 
would rename ‘‘ Medea and Venus,” and in “ The Three 
Ages”’ of the Bridgewater collection. In 1511 he was 
invited to Padua, where he executed the frescoes in the 
Scuola del Santo. In 1513 he petitioned the Doge and 
Signori for the first vacant broker’s patent for life, on the 
same conditions and with the same changes as were con- 
ceded to Giovanni Bellini, and the request was granted. 
But the venerable painter declined to sit still under the 
encroachments of his dangerous competitor, younger than 
himself by half a century, and secured a reversal of the 
order. Titian returned to the charge with a petition for 
the particular office which was to become vacant on Bel- 
lini’s death, and this offer was accepted by the Council. 
Bellini died in 1576, and Titian was now the undisputed 
master of Venetian painting. 

About this period he produced, among other master- 
pieces, the “ Young Man with a Glove” of the Salon 
Carré; the “ Assumption of the Virgin,” painted as an 
altar piece for the Church of the Frari, and now at the 
Academy at Venice; and the “ Bacchus and Ariadne ”’ of 
the National Gallery. The last he executed for Duke 
Alfonso I. of Ferrara, who became his firm friend and 
patron, and figures with his future wife, Laura Dianti, in 


“the ee ture in the ‘Louvre. In another picture in the 
o i ee holding a mirror to a ste was hs 


! 2% to bie that it cannot be that prince, but may prob- 
ably be his son, Ercole II. If this be the case, then, 
2 according to Claude Phillips, the portrait in the present 
‘collection which has been known as a portrait of “ Giorgio 
-Cornaro ” ‘must be, in reality, a portrait of this Ercole IL, 
2 since a comparison of this picture with the one in Madrid 
7 - results i in something like certainty that in both the same 
Ae S Sey is portrayed. 

_ The first fifty years of Titian’s life closes with the two 
superb altar pieces, “The Madonna di Casa Pietro,” in 
_ the Church of the Frari, and the “ Martyrdom of Saint 
a Peter the Dominican,” which, until its destruction by fire 
: Be ‘Z in 1867, adorned the altar of the Brotherhood of St. Peter 
i ’ e _ Martyr in the Church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo. In 1527 


7 i 
nt 


Titian met Pietro Aretino, and a friendship began which 
was to endure until Aretino’s sudden death many years 
after. The two, together with Sansovino, formed a so- 
called triumvirate for the mutual furtherance of material 
interests and the pursuit of art, love, and pleasure. Are- 
tino’s past had been infamous, and his pomp at Venice was 
_ based upon an organized system of sycophancy, scur- 
rilous libel, and blackmail, so that the personal reputation 
of Titian has suffered from the friendship. Yet Aretino 
was a man whom princes showed themselves eager to 
_ propitiate, and it is not unnatural that his influence should 
seem invaluable to Titian, the worldly wise, the lover of 


eae oe s.: splendid living, to whom ample means and the favor of 
| OS Sa the great were a necessity. But that he himself ever de- 
| 2 As 

2 ae 

Df 7 


* = oe ea “s oe PT) 
ee ivr ; 
ee i 
Mi “ 
ae 
é ong y" 
scended to Aretino’s grossness there is no evidence or 
even probability. His wife died in 1530, and the follow- 
ing year Titian moved to Biri Grande, a sumptuous villa - 


with beautiful gardens overlooking Murano, the Lagoons, 
and the Friulian Alps. It was inevitable that the epi- — 
cureanism that saturated his life should show its effect on 
his art. His pictures are less informed with imagination 
and more interpretative of the pride of life. It is the 
period of splendid nudities and great portraits, of a 
serenely sensuous and completely masterful expression 
of craftsmanship. 

Invited to Bologna, he painted the Emperor Charles 
V. and the Cardinal Ippolito de’ Medici. On another oc- 
casion, in the same city, he painted the Pope Paul IIL, 
and the following year accepted the Pope’s invitation to 
visit. Rome, where he again executed his portrait, with 
Cardinal Farnese and Ottavio Farnese; and even in his 
eighty-fifth year journeyed to Augsburg and painted 
“ Charles V. at the Battle of Muhlberg,” now in the Prado. 
Of his only daughter, Lavinia, he painted many portraits, 
introducing her figure also into other pictures, as in the 
“ Ecce Homo.” 

In 1556 Aretino, throwing himself back in his chair in 
a fit of laughter, slipped upon the polished floor and was 
killed. In the years that followed, magnificent sacred sub- 
jects, of which a noble example is the “ Christ Crowned 
with Thorns” at Munich, are interspersed with classical 
compositions, such as the ‘‘ Diana and Actaeon.” Titian’s 
method continually became broader and more impression- 
istic, the colors more subtle in harmony and bathed with 
atmosphere. Near the end of his career he produced the 
“ Nymph and the Shepherd of the Vienna Gallery, a work 


separat ed oe nearly s seventy years of the painter’s life from ‘ee 
Three . Ages” ie possessing oe same eas 


ly } ne commences the “ Pieta,” now in the rot 


of Venice. It was to be offered in payment for a ‘ 
bin ‘the Church of the Frari, but some misunderstand- ee 
sing with the monks, it was left unfinished, and Sm 
feted i Palma Giovine. In the peste of elo- ‘ 


4 the 190,000 inhabitants of Venice. Notwithstanding 
€ panic of the time and the disagreement with the monks, 
ris body was interred in the Capella del Crocifisso in the 
# great Church of the Frari. 


; a 
ones 


Pages 3 


ANTOINE VAN DER HEUVEL 


Van der Heuvel, called Don Antonio, was born at Ghent 
in 1600. After studying with Gaspar de Crayer he visited 
_ Italy, and on his return settled in Ghent. 


a eed 


JULIAN ALDEN WEIR © 


Julian Alden Weir and his elder brother, Prof. Walter 
Weir, of the Yale Art School, are the sons of Robert 
Walter Weir, who was for forty years instructor of draw- 


ing at West Point Academy. He received his early train- _ 


ing from his father, and then entered the Ecole des Beaux 
Arts and became a pupil of Gérome, being intimately as- 
sociated in his student days with Bastien-Lepage. He re- 
turned home in 1878, being included in that body of 
younger men whose work immediately produced a pro- 
found impression in this country. One of the founders 
of the Society of American Artists, he separated from that 
organization in 1898 to assist in forming the group of the 
“Ten American Painters.” Mr. Weir’s studio is in New 
York, but much of the year is spent at his farm in Branch- 
ville, Connecticut. 
Here he paints the landscapes that represent, perhaps, 
the most charming feature of his art, combining vigor of 
feeling and method with a most subtle appreciation of the 
spirit of the scene. They are essentially examples of the 
paysage intime, with all the freshness and fragrance of 
the simple countryside and a fine interpretation of the 
human significance of this phase of nature. His figure 
work has a gracious distinction, especially when the sub- 
ject involves a study of girlhood, the sweet mystery of 
which he renders with a searching delicacy of truth. 


ae mute, 


= ‘ * A 
cre , ts a =) ia vi 


98 <r 


7 
eg, : is € SS 
Ke Tar es 


SALE AT MENDELSSOHN HALL 
; FORTIETH STREET, EAST OF BROADWAY 


ON FRIDAY EVENING, FEBRUARY 14TH 


ii i 


BEGINNING AT 8.30 O’CLOCK 


oa 


: eee (C. D.) 
y en, / 2 No.1 | 

| WC Dra. abe 4qh - 
| Study of a Head 


The head, three-quarters in view, is tilted slightly back 
and towards the left shoulder, the eyes looking up. The 
features are fleshy and ripe in color; the dark hair, crowned 


be 


with vine leaves, merges into a dark background, and a 
loose white collar falls over a coat of brownish red. 


Height, 1534 inches; width, 14 inches. 


JU. - 


ie ae 


a ae 
: = a : 
ahh ‘ ey ie: ; 
Pane Baik: aX 
MICHEL 
(GEORGES) ct AG * : 
pa ), 
Montmartre 


In the twilight appears a dull, drab-green road, curving 
to the left beneath a bluff of ground on which are a clump 
of trees and cottages, the whole elevation forming amass 
of olive green and various brown tones. Beyond the spur 
of ground is a dim view of the plain, vanishing to a flat 
horizon, broken by a single building. Overhead is an ex- 
panse of pale, white-lighted sky. : 


Height, 9% inches ; length, 12% inches. 


From the sale of the collection of William H. Fuller, February, 1898. 


HUNT 
(WILLIAM MORRIS) 
N 3 Sti 
Portrait of a Boy 


eS, a, = 

‘The head and bust of a boy, face to the front, a little 
towards the left of the observer. The wavy olive-brown 
hair shows against a dark-brown background; the features 
are delicately modelled in flesh tints of a warm white, and 
the dark eyes are wide open with an expression of tender 
seriousness. He is dressed in a black tunic with white 
ruffles at the neck, puffs of the same material on the 
sleeves, and two slashes down the front. 


Height, 183/ inches; width, 143/ inches. 


l 


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Py & 


fag 
J, = 
ye 


VAN DER HEUVEL 


(ANTOINE) 


Neus 4 aga f 


The Quack Doctor 


From a booth on the right of the picture projects a 
platform on which stands a quack doctor proclaiming to 
a crowd of villagers the merits of his specifics, that are 
contained in a number of little pipkins on a table at his 
side. He is dressed in a magenta coat laced with gold, 
trunks of the same color, and flap boots, and wears a 
large black hat with scarlet feather, and a sword at his 
side. Behind the doctor a “ jack-pudding ” is performing 
comical antics, and a grotesque face is peeping through 
the curtains of the booth. At one corner of the platform 
a boy in blue costume is gesticulating to the crowd, fore- 
most among the latter being a man with a wooden leg, 
while at the back appears a man on a white horse. 


Signed at the left. 
Height, 20% inches ; width, 17 inches. 


RYDER 


(ALBERT P.) 


INS eho 


Hy 4 


In a greenish-blue sky saturated with light, the full 
moon is poised between two black clouds, forked like the 
wings of bats. Dark against the silvery flood of light, 
and dipped in the darker blue furrow of a wave, is a drift- 
ing boat, with a figure in the bows and a jagged scrap of 
canvas flapping from the mast. 


Height, 15 inches; length, 17 inches, 


From the sale of the William T. Evans Collection, January, 1900. 


7 


abe te &, peat 
CHASE 
(WILLIAM MERRITT) ie 


N® 6 


type, in white flowered dress and saffron silk 
ing a pink fan. She faces us, her elbow r 
back of a green chair, and the hand suppo: 


% 


Signed at the right. »F “8 & 2? v3 ha ash is : fa 
; Reh eres). t 


ls 
‘or, 


a 


a 


Portrait of Mrs. C., purchased from the artist, (oy pete 


WEIR 


(JULIAN ALDEN) 


heaveday x9 ain 114! 


Beside the gilt frame of a mirror stands a girl in profile, 


her figure seen to a little below the waist. Her left hand Mie { Ts 
rests upon the hip. She wears a large black feathered ES LOW 


hat, and a feather boa of the same color, over a bodice E enae He H ite ; 


of silvery green silk damasked with red flowers. In the ; - eae 
mirror appears her reflection, three-quarters full, the face Rubin eas lo M Mf 


and hand, by comparison with the reality, grayer in tone ba \ ee ae (7 Oo. 
and the dress a deeper blue. } 


Height, 3234 inches; width, 23% inches. 


From the artist. 


1950.— 


BUNCE 


_ (W. GEDNEY) 
N®: 8 
V entice 


Near the centre of the picture, in a vapory sky tha 
strained over the heavens like a web of black thread, hangs. 
a pale moon, soaking the immediate horizon and stair ing 
the water with primrose. Domes and towers show along 
the level. shore in sooty silhouettes, and a sailboat ae ae 
moored in the middle distance on the right. The glare 
of the headlight drips upon the surface of the water and — 4 
dyes the under part of the sails a tawny orange. The pic 
ture is an arrangement of primrose, drab greens and blues, — 
and sooty black. . ee er: 


f 


Signed at the left. 
Height, 28 inches ; length, 353¢ inches. | 


itae't 


Purchased from the artist. Awarded Bronze Medal, Exposition 
Universelle, Paris, 1900. 


Paeiitorigan WAS 


wed 


4 


1 a roll of pale blue foam into 


of the picture, walled in by rocks. 
rve to the left and are cut out into bastions, 
ith warm light, against a blue sky in which float 


aes an ih Fre og : 
a srt. aise . 


11 inches ; length, 17% inches. 


t4Sb 


= 


DEGAS | 
(HILAIRE GERMAIN EDGARD) : 


Nis 1 fe) 


Loge des Danseuses- 


Pastel 


The scene is a dressing-room opening into another one 
at the back, each with a toilet table before which a girl 
is standing. The one in front, seen from the waist up, 
has a yellow corset over her chemise, and is arranging cs 
her hair. On the wall to her right hangs a fluffy skirt, * m ~ 
and her shadow is seen on the closed leaf of the double a 


French door. In the magenta-colored room beyond a girl ros : a 
in hose and trunks is fastening her corset. ae 


wa 2 


Signed on the right at the top. 


Height, 6% inches; length, 9 inches. 


_ (HILAIRE GERMAIN EDGARD) 


SE one Ws y, 
‘ing ab Les Coulisses 


sere 2 
Pst 
‘ ‘ 


eis On the left a bass fiddle lies on the floor, beside a high 
wainscot of brown woodwork, surmounted by a pale olive- 
green wall. In the centre, fronting us, a woman in bluish- 
i white ballet skirt, with yellow sash tied in a bow, is stoop- 
Bi ing to adjust her shoe. Close behind her stands another 
woman in a bodice of deep blue and a white skirt with 
red sash, her arms upon her hips. At the back of the 
room the light streams through the muslin curtains of the 
windows upon a group of girls playing or attitudinizing, 
while to the left of them another stands back to the wall 
with one leg raised to a right-angle with her body. 


Signed at the left. 
Height, 15 inches; length, 34% inches. 


14 01.- 


DEGAS 


(HILAIRE GERMAIN EDGARD) 


N° I 2 


Les Courses 


Across the lower part of the picture are seen the posts F : 
and rails, beyond which is a bunch of eight horses etting | 
out for the starting post. They are chestnuts, bays, ma 
browns, and the jackets of the jockeys are orange, gold, 
and blue, and one, pale straw color with green sleeves. 
In the centre of the picture is a horse and rider back to | 
us, with a group of five to the right, and on the left a horse 
gently rearing with a jockey in a blue jacket. The course. - 
curves round toward the right, and in the distance ed ae 
the dip of ground is a single horse and a rider in blue, the 
background of the scene being dullish brown slopes, 
spotted with yellow green. oa 


Signed at the left. 
Height, 15 inches; length, 34% inches. 


> 
Y 


| 


r x b° es 


Sisk y 


(ALFRED) 


Effet de Neige a Morét 


A study in browns, drabs, white, and slaty gray. An 
irregularly built stone cottage abuts on a walled-in alley- 
way, along which an old man with a stick is walking 
towards another man in pale-blue blouse, who stands be- 
fore a door at the end of the passage. In front of the 
picture, against the cottage, is a shed formed of a broken 
wall and roof supported by posts, with a rough-barred 
gate across the side which faces us. Over the top of the 
wall at the right appear the naked branches of a tree, 
while poplars are faintly massed against the sky above the 
end of the passage. , 


Signed at the right, and dated ’74. 


Height, 25 inches; width, 203/ inches. 


$0/.- 


2 Ves. i nan ae , 
ia woe -“ ~ -" 
wre 7a ei Xi : - ro 
a ; a 
(AUGUSTE) On i - 
254 
a 


Bordighiera ae 


- From an elevation covered with dark-green foliage in 
the lower left of the picture, one looks down at the sheet 
of water streaked with rose, pink, purple, and green. eae 
yond rises the cliff bathed in sunshine, its top bare, with — 
rosy yellow rocks and lower slopes covered with trees, an 
among which straggle white houses, the main part of the 
town Se | in terraces above the water, “ae = 
i 
Signed at the left. ee me an 


) 
». 


PR lO cet 


MONET 


(CLAUDE) 


= f = ff 
i aud 2g rs eC AIUU. 
N?: 


5 


Grotte de Port-Domoits—Belle- 
Isle, 1886 


A bold reach of rock juts from the right, the gray stone, 
rosy in the clear sunlight, honeycombed with shadows and 
deeply hollowed near the water. The latter is a cool 
green in the sheltered part, growing gradually bluer 
towards the horizon very high up in the picture. Above 
it the sky is simmering in tones of pink and gray. 


Signed at the left, and dated ’86. 


Height, 25% inches; length, 31% inches. 


050 & 


WG 
0.9 Famer Gal, WY, fo Fh ata eu 
bn Vanrtsckor 


P-® Sha /eo# AS Rep in Cob 


effect of early morning on some day when there is no 


rosy violet on the other. A part of one of the houses in 


MONET 


(CLAUDE) 


N°? 16 i, A “aD 


This example of the famous Cathedral series shows the 


mist, but the light is still soft and caressing. The lower 
part of the edifice is veiled in blue shadow, the recess of 
the west entrance slightly tinged with orange luminous- 
ness, and the enrichment of the architecture showing as 
a mottle of deeper and fainter shadow. The tower, re- 
flecting the mild radiance of a dove-gray sky that melts 


towards the horizon into pale pink and primrose, blooms _ 
with rose and creamy yellow on its lighter side and with _ ey 


¢ 


the square is shown upon the left of the picture. 


Signed at the left, and dated ’94. 


Height, 42 inches; width, 28 inches. 


Sieg 
ae 


oa. 


MANET 


(EDOUARD) 


Yawedll, x Gj Seal] 


Drop 


Sortie du Port de Boulogne 


Ww yy 
SV f e . e ° 
The smooth sea, colored in various tones of lapis lazuli, 


is dotted with the black hulls and dark sails of fishing 
smacks, among which gleam an occasional white sail and 
the white smokestacks of a packet boat. From the 
paddle-wheel of the latter extends a wake of pale blue, 
and the fluster of brown smoke that wreathes above it 
makes a light-brown reflection on the water. A sailing 
vessel and two smaller craft appear on the horizon, above 
which is a sky drab on the left and growing blue towards 
the right. 


Signed at the right. Initials ‘‘E. M.” on the sail. 


Height, 28 inches; length, 354 inches. 


Exhibited at the Exposition Universelle, Paris, 1900. 


(EDOUARD) 


Ne 5 lau 
Si~ ie 


Le Fumeur 


A powerfully built man, eae light-brown a 
flecked with gray, sits facing us, his left elbow resti ng neo ae 
a Ae the hand Bes a clay pipe in his pe oe ue oo 


his knee. He wears a soft dark-brown is with 1 b1 oe. = 
turned up all round, and an olive-brown coat buttoned x ’ ) 
under the velvet collar and sagging open as far as the 4 aa 


waist. The figure, seen to the knees, is placed against og j 
drab background, lighter on the left side of the picture, ot 


Signed at the right. 


Reproduced in E. Bazire’s Life of Manet. 


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MONTICELLI 


(ADOLPHE) 


0. my Caer J, N® 19 4090, - 


The Ball of Fire 


A swarm of gayly dressed people pass through the three 
doorways of a brilliantly lighted ballroom, cluster on the 
flight of steps, and throng the garden below. In front of 
the assemblage are a lady and gentleman, the latter in 
plum-colored doublet and crimson hose, to the left of 
whom is a lady with a mandolin. At the back of the pic- 
ture on the right is suggestion of a lake, and a fountain, 
partly reflecting the shower of rosy flakes that appear 
amidst a glow of illumination in the sky. 


Signed at the right. 
Height, 2334 inches; length, 25% inches. 


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Le Gouvernement de la Reine 


The key of the composition is a figure of Venus 
in pink floating drapery. By her side Mars, clad in 
helmet and cuirass, is stabbing a nude man, who, with 
arms upraised, is trying to escape. Crouching below the 
latter is a woman with blue drapery over her knee and 
snakes curling around her, On the left appears the figure 
of Apollo, an aureole around his head, a bow extended in 
his hand, while behind Venus sits Ceres, with green amber 
drapery around her waist and a garland of wheat on her 
head, her left hand held by a man bearing a wreath and 
staff. } 


Height, 19 inches ; width, 12% inches. . 


A free and very personal study of ‘‘ Le Gouvernement de la Reine,” 
one of the cartoons designed by Rubens for the decoration of the 
Luxembourg. The original is described at length in the official cata- 
logue of the Louvre.—Edinburgh Memorial Catalogue, French and 
Dutch Loan Collection, Edinburgh International Exhibition, 1886. 


From the collection of the late Daniel Cottier, Esq., London. 


We. «ab > a 


DAUBIGNY 
7 (CHARLES FRANCOIS) ie 4, Vi) pee. ‘ 


Mn Me 2x 


The Chiff at Villerville 


od ‘The high ground, overlooking the water, rises towards 
i: the right. to a bunch of scrub trees and roofs of cottages, 
xy then dips again. In the hollow are cows, and three more 
a on the upper level. Beyond the green-blue water, on 
which are two sailboats, is seen the distant blue of the 
_ other shore, stretching horizontally a little below the mid- 
dle of the picture. The sky is gray, with glints of pigs and 
a few tufts of white cloud. 


Signed at the left, and dated '74. 


ae ee Er Height, 19% inches ; length, 3134 inches. 


From the sale of the collection of William H. Fuller, February, 1898. 


$4 f.— 


MILLET. 


(JEAN FRANGOIS) — 
N? A 2 2 
Landscape 
The picture lifts us on to a mountain plane and proje 


our vision into space. Above and all around is an im bs 
mense blue sky, ee clear of earth ee. with 1 3 i 


rocks and torn scrags of tree stems, and over the bro WC ae ma. 
it is seen a beast peering down into the space below. x 


Height, 311% inches ; length, 383/ inches. W 


From the Albert Spencer Collection. Bang 


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MARTIN 


(HOMER D.) 
N°: 2 3 
} Westchester Hills 


ss fo A very Eeeeictanistic peample is the “ Wesichester Hills,” because 
wee ait is at once so powerful and so free from any of the small and perfectly 
Beau - legitimate devices to attract attention; a picture that in its massive 
sobriety of brown and white (for such, very broadly speaking, is its. 
color scheme) makes no bid for popularity; in a gallery it might 
escape the notice of a careless visitor, and grows upon one’s compre- 
hension only gradually. In the gathering gloom of twilight we are 
confronted with a country road crossed by a thread of water and 
_ bounded on the right by a rough stone wall. The road winds away 
4 from us, skirting the ridge of hill, which slumbers like some vast 
recumbent beast against the expanse of fading sky. The dim fore- 
ground and shadowed mass are grandly modelled: strength, solidity, 
and bulk contrasted with the tremulous throbbing of the light. This 
contrast of rude, tawny ground with the vibration of a white sky 
recalls a favorite theme of the French painter Pointelin; but one feels 
that a comparison of his pictures with the “ Westchester Hills” is all 
in favor of the latter. Both painters have felt the solemn loneliness 
of nature folding her strength in sleep, the mystery of darkening and 
of the lingering spirituality above, but Martin is the grander draughts- 
man of the two, suggesting with far more convincingness the solid 
structure of the earth. So we are made to realize that the phenomenon 
is not merely one that he has noted or that we might note, but one 
that through countless ages has manifested itself as part of the order 
of the universe. 

Its significance is elemental. We may attribute this to the better 
drawing, or, with far more justice, to the superiority of intellect that 
could embrace this larger conception and find the means to express 
it. And in studying the means, let us not overlook the essential gran- 
deur of the color—not of the brave or passionate kind, but sober with 
a concentration of subtle meaning that discovers infinite expression 
in the minutest variations of the homely browns and yellows, which 
in the shadow yield nothing but their strength and quietude. And 
then what a wonder of suggestion in the sky! It is not only lighted, 
but quivering with light: an elastic fluid that extends as far as one’s 


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imagination can travel in height and breadth and depth. These limit- 
less skies are a characteristic of Martin’s pictures. He does not seem aes 
to have been attracted so much by cloud forms, or to have been given, © ee 
as it were, to building castles in the air; but his imagination loved to 
free itself in the far stretches of ether, the circumambient medium 
through which the waves of light travel. His skies are brushed in | 3 
with firm assurance; it is a pleasure to peer into the canvas and study 7 
the sweep and exultation of the strokes, and then to step back until — 

distance blends them into a unity of ranging grandeur. And just as_ ca . 
Corot said of himself that he was “like a lark pulsing forth its songs 
amid the gray clouds,” and his skies have the vibrative quality of violin a 
music, so there is music in these skies of Martin’s, only it is that of se 
the organ and the diapason stop.—Charles H. Caffin, “ Brief Apyres a 
ciations of some American Painters,” N. Y. Sun. 


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Signed at the right. ; oe My 
Height, 32 inches ; length, 60 inches. 


From the sale of the collection of William T. Evans, January, 1900. 


(JEAN BAPTISTE CAMILLE) 


; , N° 24 


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" The scene is an undulating tract of country, rising on 
the right of the picture. In the foreground is a small 


_ grove of beech trees, their foliage meeting in a kind of 


arch through which appears a twilight sky, dragged with 


4 blue, white, and pink. Horse soldiers are visible above the 


brow of the hill, beginning the descent. Extended upon 
a white cloth is the limp form of St. Sebastian, supported 
by a woman in a blue mantle, who draws an arrow from 
the saint’s body. His head droops forward over the right 
shoulder and one arm hangs loosely, the back of the hand 
resting on the ground with the fingers curled inwards. 
To the right kneels another woman with a white drapery 
over her head and shoulders, who is rinsing a sponge in 
a bowl. Overhead float two infant angels, one holding a 
crown, the other a palm branch, and a warmer glow ir- 
radiating from them touches the upper foliage, the rest of 
the picture being saturated with cool evening light. 


Signed at the right. 
Height, 50% inches; length, 33 inches. 


NoTE.—Corét painted more than one of this subject. The largest 
went to the Salon of 1853, afterwards in the Exposition Universelle of 
1867. 

In 1851 Corét wrote to Constant Dutilleux: ‘I am at this moment 


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working upon an historical landscape embellished with a Saint Sebas- 
tian succored by some holy women, and with care and work I sere 
under the guidance of Heaven to make a lovely picture.” p29: 

The Salon picture was returned unsold to the painter, and he did a 
good deal more work on it. It went again to the Exposition of ’67, — 
but again came back, and Corét once more set to work on it as he fel 
there was a lack of aerial perspective in the subject. He opened up 
the trees and enlivened the picture throughout, and in several er 
proved it. 

In 1871 he presented the Salon picture, now also in this country, 
to the promoters of the Lottery held to aid the opiaas ict, by ed 
victims of the late war. ee 

Exposition du Centenaire de Corét, 1895. Pe ae 

Collection Defossés, Paris, 1899. 2 eae 2 


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- PUVIS DE CHAVANNES 


yy Su Te * _ (PIERRE) 


Waa oe N°: 25 | 
Rete LL spéerance 


‘ The date of this picture (1872) is significant—France, 


sO recently under the heel of the invaders, even now 


gathering herself together for the work of peaceful res- 
toration. The crisis affected her artists in different ways, 
plunging Raffaelli, for example, into pessimism, eliciting 
the optimism of Puvis de Chavannes. 

He pictures the vision of hope as a maiden clad in 
white, fair-haired like the daughters of Northern France, 


- with blue eyes fixed upon the future, holding a spray of 


“ oak, symbol of civic triumphs. The sun has sunk; a low 


ridge of deep blue hills and browned tree tops showing 
against the rosy horizon, over which are layers of dove- 
gray cloud—a twilight sky that tells of past tumult and 
bespeaks a fairer morrow. The light is tender behind the 
girl’s head, more sullen above the top of the sloping hill- 
land, a drab waste of uncultivated ground whose only crop 
is ruined farmsteads and two grave-mounds crowned with 
rude crosses. The maiden sits upon a heap of fallen 
masonry, her slender form, supported on the right hand, 
in profile, her head and bust turned towards us. Bright 
little flowers are already growing in the crannies of the 
stones and around her feet, where the earth is fledged 


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desolate. 


Signed at the left, and dated. 


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No 6 


ness Pre rtishes this portrait of a gentleman in the prime - 
of life and health. The figure, set against a dark back- 
| ground and clad in a black velvet doublet, is rather more 
34 helt length, and facing to the right. The strong head 
has. carried high and crowned with black curly hair, the 
___ face having the fresh color that comes of an open-air life. 
- The eye is full, penetrating, and yet gracious, the nose 
long and clean- cut, the mouth supply curved, a fringe of Se: 
‘black upon the upper lip, and the chin and cheeks bearded ae 
with curly hair. His left arm is extended in front, and ; 7 
perched upon the gloved wrist is a falcon with gray | 
spreckled breast and black plumage on the wings and 

head, which he caresses with his right hand, that also 

holds the bird’s hood. The head of a hound with black 

a7 2 forehead and white muzzle appears in the left corner of 

- the picture. 

This well- known picture, from the collection of the Earl 

of Carlisle at Castle Howard, has been known as a por- 

trait of Giorgio Cornaro, on the strength of an inscrip- 

tion at the back of the canvas: “ Georgius Cornelius; 

Frater Catterinz Cipri et Hierusalem Regine.” The per- 


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fancied likeness to the picture of Alfonso I. and Laura — 
Dianti at the Louvre, had been assumed to be also ae 


Velasquez, proved it could not be so. But he thi 
may be a portrait of his son, Ercole II., in which 
would seem necessary to apply the same title to this. 
called “ Cornaro.” 


Titian never produced a finer picture than that which now 
the gallery of Castle Howard. Cornaro stands as large as life a 
window, and his frame is seen to the hips. His head, three-qu 
to the right, is raised in a quick and natural way, and his fine, 
features are enframed in short chestnut hair and a well-trimmed bea es 
of the same color. On his gloved left hand a falcon without a hood me 
is resting, of which he is grasping the breast. He looks at the bi ie 
which is still chained to his finger, as if preparing to rs ta sword ee 


shows his head above the partaee 

There is no sign of a touch in this beautiful work, which is aoa 
with all the richness of tone and smoothness of surface which | 
tinguish polished flesh. The attitude is natural, the complexion 
warm and embrowned by sun, and every part is blended with 
utmost finish, without producing want of flexibility. ie 

A copy of this picture was formerly owned by Signor Valentino % be é 
Benfatto, of Venice. See the Addenda of Zannotos Guida of 1863. 

The original at Castle Howard was engraved, 1811, by Skelsnn ea os ms : 
From “ The Life and Times of Titian” of Crowe & Conia 1881, ; 
Vol. 2, page 18. 


Signed at the left, TICIANVS F. 


Height, 424 inches ; length, 3734 inches. 


AMERICAN ART ASSOCIATION 


MANAGERS, 
THOMAS E. KIRBY, 


Auctioneers. 


FAMOUS TITIAN eae TO NEW YORK: 
“THE MAN WITH ey Se ” 
Titian’s prithats’ of Cir Sethe 


Once Owned by Seth Milliken of 


New York, and Now Acquired by 


~ the Duveen Brothers for $300,000 
From Dr. Edward Simon, Privy 
Councillor and Art Collector 


(e ) of Berlin. 
(From Times Wide World 


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